


Primary Sources

by walkandtalk



Series: Scientific Inquiry [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Future references to Spirk, Marriage Proposal, Origin Story, Pon Farr, Pregnancy, Prequel, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-18 05:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4693913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkandtalk/pseuds/walkandtalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been said that the timeless romance between the Human Amanda Grayson and Vulcan Ambassador Sarek was a perfect parable for interstellar law and ethics.</p><p>This is how it really happened.</p><p>Prequel to Objective Data.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling Hard

 

> Requisition: one (1) tur’qq bush- mature and one (1) tea cup - standard
> 
> Billed to the account of Ambassador Sarek
> 
> Incident report attached

 

“They’ll see you, and then we’ll go to jail,” Jacob wailed, a whiny note in his voice carrying through the branches of the overgrown tree.  “Get down!”

Mandy looked down to where her younger brother was standing, one of his feet resting on the lowest hanging branch, the other still on firm ground, as if he would follow.

“It was your idea, so shut it.  You’re supposed to be look out,” she hissed back, and once satisfied Jacob was looking at the gate entrance instead of her, she reached for another branch and pulled herself up, finally above eye level to the stone wall that surrounded the mysterious Vulcan Embassy.  At recess Moira Abner said that Vulcan elephants had broken down the perimeter field around the embassy, and a sehlat had escaped and had been captured just outside their school.

Immediately, Mandy was disappointed.  Every school day she walked by the embassy, the plain stone walls and gates only suggesting an even plainer brown stone building, nothing more.  However, the frequently embarking hovercars and the intriguing force field suggested that something far more exciting might be tucked behind the perimeter walls.

“What d’you see?” Jacob called out, trying to bend his body into the tree trunk, as if that would hide him if security officers spotted Mandy going over the fence.  “Any cages?”

“Nothing… yet,” she grunted, extending one arm out to the wall.  Jacob’s eyes were huge.

“Mandy…”

She was now kneeling on the wall, arms bent, desperately trying to keep her balance.  “There’s a garden on the far corner,” she reported.  “I don’t see any animals.”

“Maybe they’re not in cages,” Jacob suggested, even more fearful.  “Maybe they roam around, like guard animals.  You know, to eat intruders.”

Mandy rolled her eyes and started crawling to the far corner where the garden was.  “You would believe anything.  I bet that—”

At that moment, her leg and arm slipped off the wall, sending her tumbling down, separated from safety and Jacob.

\--

Mandy fell on a bush, a some type of sticker bush, judging by the bloody scratches on her arms, but also cushioned the fall a little and she hit her side and his the ground on her stomach, face first into the dirt.  She recognized the pain in her leg and side before she noticed her surroundings.  She tried not to cry, but between the shock of the fall, the pain, and the fear that wild Vulcan guard animals would pounce from the shadows, she couldn’t help her loud sobs.

“Mandy!” Jacob was screaming from the other side of the wall.  “Mandy!  Are you okay?”

“Jacob, I can’t get up,” she cried, trying to roll to her side.

There was no answer.  “Jacob?”

Mandy struggled to roll on her side, now able to see a pair of feet peeking out beneath a dark brown robe, she crained her head up, sniffing, just able to make out the blurry face of a man through her tears.

“You are in need of medical care,” the young man said in a clipped Standard accent.  “I must transport you inside so that you may receive attention.”  He bent down and Mandy could not see he was young, maybe six years older than her own nine years, and the narrow features clearly Vulcan.  “Is that acceptable?”

Mandy nodded, not entirely sure what she was agreeing to, and was promptly scooped up and carried across the lawn in an oddly awkward position that had her head bobbing above his shoulders.  From her vantage point she could see Jacob standing at the gate, peering between the bars, looking completely awestruck.

Mandy gave a little wave, and hoped Jacob would notice and understand that she was okay.  Her tears had completely subsided, and her curiosity was once again in full force.

They entered the large stone building, revealing a quiet foyer and wide hallway to the back of the building. He carried her into a small side room bright with false-halogenic lights, similar to the MediStation in her school.

The boy deposited her on the station table and the activated the medic servo, which blinked several colored lights before extending a metal arm towards Mandy, scanning her.

“Thank you,” she offered hesitantly to the boy, who hadn’t offered another word since he had picked her up.

“I am Sybok, son of Sarek,” he said, raising his hand in a strange salute.  Mandy struggled to return it with her uninjured arm, her fingers not quite quirking together in the same pattern.

“Amanda Nadia Grayson, daughter of Aisha and Oskar.”

“You are a student at the school,” Sybok observed, his eyes focused on the readout panel as the automated servo whirred quietly around her torso, pinging on occasion.

“I’m in fourth year at the primary school.  I’m accepted into the Earth Federation Academy for my junior studies with mathematics and languages,” she informed him proudly.  She specifically wanted to go into Tellarite Language Corps, like Moira's cousin, but she knew enough not to say so to this Vulcan boy.  Maybe he was a student at the Academy, too.  Miora said the Tellarite diplomat's daughters all attended.  As Sybok didn't even acknowledge the information she volunteered, so she fell silent while the servo delivered two hypo sprays and followed the instructions to lay back on the narrow examination table.

She wouldn’t rat Jacob out, but as the Vulcan seemed entirely uninterested in how she ended up in the garden, she hoped she wasn’t expected to share any details.  Mandy thought it was peculiar that not a single body could be heard or seen inside or outside the building, she was burning to see more Vulcans, besides this boy, or to peak outside the window to see if there were cages of sehlats and Vulcan elephants.

Ten minutes passed, and the servo gave its final ping and folded back into itself next to the examination table.  Amanda sat up hesitantly, the soreness and pain completely gone.

“No bones were broken.  You are no longer incapacitated.  You will follow me,” Sybok announced, leaving Amanda to hop off the table and trail behind him into a room down the hallway.

Opposed to the tranquil foyer and the antiseptic room with the medic servo, this room reminded her of her grandmother’s ornate parlor in Turkey, a room to look at but never to enter.  This room had red satiny chaise lounges on a carved wooden dais with tiny statues and black metal candelabras littered around the room.  Amanda stood next to the simplest chair, unsure if she would be allowed to sit.

“I will offer you a drink,” Sybok announced.  “And you will speak to the Ambassador.”

The Ambassador.  Suddenly her adventure on a tree had become something of diplomatic catastrophe.  Amanda’s face pinched in worry, thinking of Jacob and the fence and the small hole in the force field they noticed this morning and the Vulcan elephants and whatever other secrets she was hoping to escape with this afternoon.

“What will you drink?” Sybok asked, his face blank but his calm eyes suddenly seemed suspicious.

“Nothing, thank you.”

Sybok’s expression did not change, but she got the clear impression he was frowning.

“Water?” she amended.

Sybok turned on his heels, leaving Mandy alone in the room to worry.  What was she going to tell Mama?

She fidgeted with the edges of her school uniform, trying to rub out the dirt and gave up quickly.  She looked around the room, her eye catching on a large wall hanging of unorderly red and orange stripes and swirls each brush stroke giving the impression that the paint was about to bubble off the linen and singe the wall.  Words in Golic were painted across it, she could only make out smatterings like “high thinking people” and “traditional rules.”  She never saw anything like this room in her Federation coursework, but she hadn’t yet started her junior studies.  She hoped that Tellarite art and houses weren’t like this.  The whole room made her uneasy.

Mandy heard gentle voices through the doorway, Golic, High-Golic judging by the musical lilting ends of the phrases, but she couldn’t quite make out the words.  Sybok entered with a tea set for two, set it on the table, and walked to the wall and stood, as if wanting to blend into the wall like a statue.  She stared at him, but he did not meet her gaze.

A moment later a tall man walked into the room.  He was dressed in a grey shift with a deep plum over robe and several silver chains around his shoulders with a large broach over where the Human heart would be.  His hair was arranged in the same fashion as the boy Sybok, but his cheekbones were higher, giving his face an almost cat-like appearance.  His eyes appraised her carefully, but she found no reproach in his eyes.  Mandy felt almost hopeful.

“I am the Ambassador to Earth in the service of the people of Vulcan, and this embassy is placed in my charge,” the man said, raising his hand in the same salute Sybok had offered.

Mandy repeated her name carefully, but didn’t try the salute again.  The Ambassador sat down, offering her the requested cup of water.  She took it, and sipped it nervously, almost gagging as it was salty and very warm.  She forced herself not to spit it out and focused on the cup, blue with an intricate orange pattern, like scrollwork on her mother’s company china.  She wondered if it had a meaning.

“My son tells me he found you in the gardens needed medical attention.”

She glanced over to Sybok, still standing at attention, observing stoically.  The Ambassador’s son.  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

The Ambassador waited a long moment, pouring himself a cup of tea, allowing the silence to settle over them, making Mandy distinctly nervous.  “Are you well, now?”

She nodded again.

“Is there anything else you wish to share about your unexpected visit, today?”

“Are you going to arrest me?” she asked, although it came out more as a squeak.  She could hear Sybok shifting restlessly behind her.

The Ambassador continued to look at her evenly, which unnerved Mandy even more.  “Why would I have you arrested?”

“I got in through a hole in the general security perimeter,” she said, words tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could think, and her fingers trembled around the cup.  “I got on the wall to see if there were Vulcan elephants and sehlats.  It’s against the law and I- I think I broke your plant when I fell off the wall.”

The Ambassador’s eyebrow twitched upward at that.

“Yes, I am aware of the penal codes, but most do not apply to Terran minors in such a situation in our embassy.  I believe that, in this instance, it can be overlooked provided you promise never to repeat such an infraction.”  The Ambassador took his own cup, and was about to take a sip when he paused.  “It may interest you to know that there are no such thing as Vulcan elephants.”

It surely wasn’t meant to be a joke, but Mandy choked a nervous giggle all the same and dropped her cup, shattering it on the floor.  She slowly looked up again, her face flushed in embarrassment.

“That, as well, will be overlooked.”  The Ambassador stood, gesturing for her to rise as well.  “Young Ms. Grayson, perhaps it would be in the best interest of all involved that you take your leave now.  Do you require an escort home?”

“No, I can walk,” she said, hoping Jacob was still waiting for her out of sight, and carefully stepped over pieces of broken teacup and followed the Ambassador out the door, now flanked by Sybok, like a member of an imperial guard.  The pair of Vulcans stood at the gate and Mandy bid them a hasty goodbye and thanks that they returned with the strange salute, and she marched down the street towards home.  She peaked back, only slightly disappointed that they were gone.  Jacob was sitting, waiting on the corner of the fence, just out of sight.

“Mandy!” he wailed, flinging his arms around her shoulders.  “I thought they’d taken you.”

Mandy shoved him off.  For being almost seven, he still acted like a baby.  “Taken me where?” she asked, full of the confidence that was missing when he was being questioned and cared for by Vulcans.  She recounted the highlights of the small adventure and assured him that they were not in trouble

“What are we going to tell Mama?” Jacob asked, his eyes wide.

Mandy grabbed both of their book bags from him, and started to march straight home.  “Nothing.”

During the walk, where Jacob was strangely quiet, all Mandy could think about was the pretty Vulcan boy and his strange father and the beautiful Vulcan paintings and how wonderful it would be if all of the strange and wonderful things in the universe would just open up to her and be understood, like words in a book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle readers, I'm so happy to be writing again!
> 
> This is NOT the promised ending to the Scientific Inquiry series, but a prequel, just a little story I always wanted to write. I hope you enjoy!


	2. Junior Ambassador’s Tertiary Assistant-in-Training

> Federation Standard Language is most certainly a misnomer.  The language- like all languages- is a living, breathing organism that when dropped in the wide variety of environments it adapts and thrives in its surroundings.  Idiom, tone, gesture-- all uniquely adapted to suit the user and its community.  One cannot find a standard Standard language in any corner of the Federation, nor can we expect it if we embrace the diversity .
> 
> This is why the Universal Translator program is essential to continued peace and the mission of the Federation.
> 
> \-- Amanda Grayson, Initial Proposal for the Universal Translator Project

Amanda could not believe her terrible luck.  She came first-- first!-- in applied xeno linguistic principles and had done every paper in her Federation Politics class on Tellarite participation but she had been assigned to the Earth delegation.

It wasn’t a personal snub or disapproval from her instructors, she was assured, but the decision had to be made in favor a more senior student at the Federation Academy who was applying for Starfleet in the fall.  She had two more opportunities to try to earn a spot with the Tellarite delegation, and none of the other Year 10 students had even been placed for this year’s field study.

She spend most of her time in transit to New Dehli feeling sorry for herself.  She didn’t know any of the other handful of students were serving the other delegations attending the Summit for Intra-Federation Policy and Ethics, and she would be the only one from her school in following the delegation from Earth as a young student.  She would be bored and lonely during one of the most interesting conferences on Earth, with no chance to jump start her start a career on Tellar.  It wasn’t until she was walked into the doors hotel that she felt her spirits lift.  The lobby was filled to the brim with travelers from the furthest reaches of the Federation, the buzz of a hundred languages, like instruments warming up before a symphony, filled her ears.  They were dressed in a wide array of dress and undress, from jewels and pelts to digital holographic suggestions of clothing.  Diplomats, reporters, academics all gathered in small groups or strolled up and down the lobby and onto turbo lifts.  Never in her life had she seen so many different beings in one place.  It was exhilarating.

Beyond the queue of beings led down a hallway into large there were orderly seminar rooms with neatly lined chairs with perfectly dictated Standard.  The allure of skirting around the clusters of visitors, observing them before the conference started, was overwhelming, but she followed her school group down the hallway to the queue marked “Courtesy Corps.”  As each student received their badge, bright colors indicating which delegation they would be working with during the conference.

A cheerful woman handed over her badge and directed her to the first turbo lift on the left to the floor where most of the Human representatives were staying.  She waited outside the door and stepped into the first lift that arrived, almost completed filled by a small group from Uuliuuuliuu.  She tried to keep out of the sticky mucous trail they left on the slick floor and edge around their bulbous tails but ended up pushed up against the turbolift wall.  The door opened for her floor, but there was no way past the Uuliuuuliuu’x.

“Excuse me,” she tried.

No response.

“Please move aside,” she tried again her clearest Federation Standard.

Not even a twitch of their antlers, so, internally grumbling, she remained plastered against the back of the lift wall as they rose again.

It was three more stops before the Uuliuuuliuu’x left the lift, leaving her alone with just one other person, a Vulcan male.  After a cursory glance, she mumbled her requested floor for the computer, and busied herself with her itinerary, and was surprised when the other spoke.

“Mandy Grayson.”

She jerked her head up from the list of the week’s keynote speakers, surprised to be addressed.  “Pardon, do I know--” she stopped short, surprised yet again.  “Sybok.”

Sybok inclined his head in acknowledgement. A few years older, but it was obvious he was the boy who found her the day she tried to scale the wall outside the Vulcan Embassy.  He was dressed in dark green robes over a light brown tunic, a simple neon orange chain with a badge indicating he was part of the Vulcan delegation.

“I am pleased to see you again,” he said, which would be a typical formal greeting for any Human, but from a Vulcan it rang strangely in Amanda’s ears.  “Are you attending this conference?”

Amanda looked down, her hand still holding her Earth Courtesy Corps badge.  “Er-- Yes, for my school field experience,” she said, struggling to put the badge on, and dropped her PADD on the floor.  Sybok obligingly and delicately picked it up by the corner, holding it out to her, coated in the floor’s mucus residue.  “Thank you,” she said taking the device delicately.

“I am here as part of my training as well.”

The turbo lift arrived at her designated floor once more, and Amanda couldn’t feel more relieved that this awkward encounter would soon end.  “Well, I hope you enjoy the confre-AAAH.”

Amanda hovered a few inches above the floor, Sybok’s grip on her arms keeping her from face planting into the slippery mucus trail in the lift.  He firmly hoisted her to her feet at the door, and side stepped the trail on the floor, allowing them both to walk out.

“Thank you again,” she said, her face on fire.  “I am not usually a clumsy person.”

“My experience would indicate otherwise,” he said, no malice or snark evident.  She took it as the plain truth that it was and attempted to flee gracefully when he spoke again.  “Ms. Grayson, would it be acceptable in your custom, in light of the events that have transpired here, to ask a small favor of you?”

“Depends what the favor is,” she said.  So long as it didn’t involve climbing fences, scaling walls, or just generally moving, Amanda was intrigued.

“I would like to invite you to accompany me to a small gathering of colleagues,” he said.  “I think you would be a most welcome addition to our group tonight.”

“I…”

“Just a group of worldly and interested students, 2100, at the Red Oven.”

“I guess?”

Sybok nodded, looking distinctly pleased, and stepped back, the lift doors closing and whisking him out of sight.

Amanda could only stare where the Vulcan had left.  “What did I just agree to?”

\----

After four hours of orientation, she was expected at the Courtesy Corp mixer, but meeting with Vulcans at a cafe in New Delhi seemed much more interesting.  Amanda tugged a neon green scarf around her head, hoping that no one from her school would recognize she was ducking out the arranged and mandatory gathering for the young people.  She made her way to the Red Oven, noticing how the intergalactic business district bled slowly into a much older part of town.  She stopped outside the cafe, peering in the window to see it was mostly deserted, save for a group in the far corner, sitting on low benches at a table, back lit by candles.

She tried to see if Sybok was among them when a voice behind her made her jump.

“I am glad you decided to come.”

“Well, I couldn’t really renege on a favor, could I?”

“I would not know, not being well versed in the extending and retracting of favors.”  Sybok opened the door and Amanda followed him in.

Three Vulcans sat at the table, two the same apparent age as Sybok, a man and a woman, and a greying elder man.  Like Sybok and Amanda, they didn’t wear any badges or anything to indicate they were on official business.  They eyed her speculatively when they approached.  Sybok held out his hand in the salute, one that Amanda knew now was ta’al.

“I would like to introduce my acquaintance of Earth, Ms. Mandy Grayson.”

“Amanda,” she corrected quietly.  No one had called her Mandy since she was twelve.

“Amanda,” the woman said, her eyes wary but curious.  “Sit and join our gathering.”

_Why had Sybok asked her here?_

“Tea?” one of the men offered.  “I’m afraid it is all we have to heighten the conversation, this evening.”

Amanda eyed it dubiously.  She had a friend who liked Vulcan tea, so bitter it singed her tastebuds.  She took a cup, just to be polite, and sniffed, overwhelming grateful it was a pleasantly sweet chai variety.

“Compassion, Temperance, and Justice,” the woman said, raising her glass.  The rest raised their glasses and drank deeply.

“Tu-Jarok,” explained the eldest of the party, noting Amanda’s puzzled expression.  “The teachings of Jarok, Surak’s contemporary, and indeed, his friend.  He taught his followers how to balance logic with the emotion, and saw the very balance of these two things a vital part of a Vulcan’s true nature.”

The others nodded solemnly.  Amanda stayed quiet, trying to look like she understood whatever unspoken Vulcan understanding that had passed among the group.

The woman turned to Amanda, peering at her intensely.  “What is a Human’s true nature?”

She blanched under the scrutiny.  “I-- well, I guess it’s different for everyone.”

“Your nature, then.”

“Well, I… I am inclined to want to learn about the universe, its people,” she started carefully.  “I want to learn about how different cultures are constructed but still manage to coexist in the Federation.”

The elder snorted.  “She asked for a simple answer, not a thesis statement.  You are not a student here.”  The thumped on the table with his fist.  “You are a vital being, full of life and potential!”  The pitch and timbre of his voice caught Amanda completely off guard.  “What is your potential?”

Amanda felt the words catch in her throat.  “I don’t know… I’m just… curious.”

The elder nodded solemnly, and lifted his glass again.  “Curiosity.”  The other rose their glass again, and this time Amanda joined them.  Regardless of the elder’s insistence that she wasn’t a student, she felt as if she passed a test.

“Drink deep friends.  In the old days, ineu seed was ingested, bringing enlightenment,” the elder mused.  “We will have to make due with sweet tea.”

One of the Vulcans made an amused sound while drinking deeply from his cup.  Amanda startled.  What was that old idiom, when Vulcans laugh and Ixpi dance.

“So you all meet and talk about… your emotions?”

The table immediately went still.

“No,” Sybok enunciated carefully.  “We talk about history.  Cultures that came before us, that helped Vulcan become what it is today.”  The others nodded.

“So you’re history buffs.”

“Crude, but accurate.”

It was an hour of contemplative drinking and discussion of the archeological findings of Jarok, the old tablets that were left, and the recorded responses of Surak as they were translated from Old High Golic to contemporary and what was lost.  Out of respect for their guest they spoke in Standard, but would occasionally revert into Golic.  Amanda knew enough to catch the drift of it, but the dialect had such high vowels, she couldn’t quite follow enough of the comments to make sense of it as it related to the Standard conversation.  She didn’t comment much, and got the impression she wasn’t there for their entertainment or benefit.   It was hard not to feel like a child compared to these adults- so much older and they seemed so much more knowledgeable than herself.  Altogether, it was boring, and she regretted leaving the mixer at the hotel.  Eventually, Sybok stood, bidding everyone good night and offered to walk Amanda back to the hotel.

When they were outside in the balmy night air, Amanda finally spoke the one question that had been weighing heavily on her mind.

“Why did you invite me?”

Sybok blinked at her, spreading his fingers out in a gesture of supplication.  “I thought it would be interesting.  A Human, an unexpected and illicit guest to our gathering of minds.”

Amanda frowned.  She never thought inviting a sixteen year old girl at a cafe could be viewed as illicit, but she wasn’t Vulcan, and wasn’t familiar with the taboos.  “Well, was it interesting?”

“No.”  Sybok chuckled.  “You are entirely too youthful to understand the world and too well educated to be interesting.”

The slight grin, and the slurring of his speech, the tonal quality to his glottal stops.  He sounded drunk, but all he had was tea.  “Are you sick?”

“No.”  Sybok paused, face twisting as he reconsidered.  “Yes.  The added sugar to the tea was… stimulating.  Partaking in three cups was an ill advised choice.”

“We’ve got to get back to the hotel.”

Sybok leaned against a wall.  “No, I believe I will stay here.”

Amanda wrinkled her nose at the nearly deserted business street.  “I’m calling a transport.”

Sybok waved her off.  “No, no, I can’t been seen like this.  It would not be appreciated.”

“Then we walk, it’s only seven blocks.  I’m not staying here.”

A half hour later they were in the turbolift where they had met.  Sybok had yawned several times, and began to stumble out of the door.  Amanda followed behind, wanting to call for medic, but Sybok insisted that in a few hours his body would metabolize the tea.  Sybok attempted to key into his room several times before he was successful, and didn’t bother to close the door, so she took it as her invitation to enter.

His quarters were enormous, a large living area with huge windows looking over brightly lit New Delhi below gave way to doors that were surely sleeping quarters and bathrooms.  Amanda stood on the marble tile wondering what, exactly, Sybok did, so she asked.

“I am one of the junior ambassador’s assistants,” he said, his voice muffled from his position, planted into a long, low couch with a pillow over his head.

“Your junior ambassadors get assistants?” she asked, surprised.  Only the highest ranking Ambassadors on Tellar had assistants, Amanda had already looked into applying.  She doubted the assistants got a hotel room like this for conferences.

Sybok turned his head to face her, still lying prone on the couch.  “Yes, I am one of three assistants, the lowliest of them, as I suspect the position was a punishment from my father.”

“The Ambassador?”  Sybok silently nodded.  “Why are you being punished?”

“For thinking things that are not approved.  He may be liberally minded to most Vulcans, but even he cannot abide the truth of what we are,” he sighed, resentment ringing in his tired voice.

Before Amanda could ask another question, a firm voice interrupted.

“Sybok, are you ill?”

The Ambassador stood in the still-open doorway.  Sybok huffed and turned his face away like a pouty child.  From behind him, Amanda could see two other Vulcans, wearing matching grey robes and diplomatic insignia.  The Ambassador’s face was hard to read, but Amanda thought she saw the concern, then surprised when he saw Amanda, and then an unreadable calm as he turned back to his companions.

“Please, excuse us.  We will regather in the morning.”  His two companions bowed and disappeared as the Ambassador firmly closed the door behind him.  “Sybok, do you need medical assistance?”

Sybok grumbled in reply.

“He drank tea, and Earth variety,” Amanda offered hesitantly.  “I don’t think it agreed with him.”

The Ambassador gave her a long look.  “Ms. Grayson.”

Amanda nodded.

“How did you come to be associated again with my son?”

Sybok turned quickly to shoot her a brief, quelling look.  Amanda wasn’t prepared to lie, but hoped she could make her excuses as flee as fast as possible.  “We met in the turbo lift.”  The Ambassador didn’t so much as twitch a muscle in his face, compelling Amanda to add, “he seemed ill, so I offered to help him to his room.”  Amanda didn’t see a need to fill in the details in between those two sentences, hoping that would satisfy Sybok.

“Thank you for your assistance,” the Ambassador replied stiffly.  “Sybok, you need to return to your room.”

Sybok turned again, and surprisingly the Ambassador bodily lifted him under the arms and mostly dragged him to one of the doors and deposited him upon a bed.  In hushed tones that even Amanda could hear as parental admonishment as the Ambassador pulled blankets over his son's form.

“Ms. Grayson, a word, if you will.”  Amanda turned back, waiting for the Ambassador to close Sybok’s bedroom door.  He walked to the couch and gestured to the seat opposite.  She had a flashback to a sunny painted gold-and-red room, but this time, the Vulcan didn’t seem quite to scary.  Still intimidating, but not entirely fearsome.  She hadn’t done anything wrong this time, so there was no need to feel panicked.

She took the offered seat, and the Ambassador handed her a PADD with a picture on it.

“Have you seen these two individuals?” he asked.  Amanda studied the picture, recognizing the two photographs immediately.  The woman and the elderly man, both in profile.  He didn’t wait for a response.  “For if you did, I must caution you not to interact with them again.  They are dangerous terrorists.”

“Terrorists!” Amanda squeaked, forgetting her resolve.  “But I thought they were philosophers.  Ametuer historians.”

“They have many radical ideas, but their incendiary ideology, to a psi sensitive species such as Vulcans, makes them immeasurably dangerous.”

Amanda was gobsmacked, her mind spinning with questions.

“I do not believe that you are in any danger,” he said.  “However, if you wish, I can arrange for a security detail for your stay at the conference.”

Amanda shook her head.  “Why is Sybok friends with them?”

“Sybok is not friends with radicals.”

Not knowing what to say, she remained quiet, studying the Ambassador closely.

“I would appreciate if you were to see these individuals, that you contact me directly, on my private line.”  He held out his communicator for Amanda to link the private data to his own.  Amanda had never met someone so important that their preliminary contact information was on the Data Base.

Amanda nodded.  “I understand.”  Satisfied, the Ambassador sat back, and Amanda understood she had been wordlessly dismissed.  She stood, started to walk out, but then turned around.

“Can I ask a favor?”  The Ambassador’s brow furrowed.  “Not a favor, exactly, I know Vulcans don’t do favors, but I’d like your advice on something, as one colleague to another.”

The Ambassador face smoothed, now curious.  “I will not withhold advice, if I am free to give it.”

“I want to work with the Tellarite delegation next year as part of the Federation program,” she said quickly, as if the words building up in her mind had finally been loosened, “but no one from Earth has been chosen for the past sixteen years, I checked.  If I want to work in the Tellarite Language Corps when I graduate, I need experience now, but I don’t know how to get my foot in the door.”

“Ah.”  The Ambassador nodded, contemplating.  “Vulcans are known for being logical, it is a quality that defines my people.  Humans are known for their empathy and cooperation.  What would you describe the hallmark of the Tellarites.”

“Productivity and industry,” Amanda replied.

The Ambassador nodded.  “My experience indicates that Tellarites do not want other species involved in their affairs.  You will not find Humans serving in diplomatic roles unless they find that Human indispensable.  There is a Tellarite saying: Unik twavk sak tak motuk.  Reject the alien hand.  You are Human, and will always have the Tellarites’ distrust, as they distrust Vulcans.  But even the Tellarites will work with the Vulcans when faced with a particularly excellent opportunity for profitable industry.  When you understand this, you can better prepare yourself to accept the unique opportunity it will afford you in Tellarite culture.”

Amanda thought about this, nodding slowly when she understood the point he was making.  It wasn’t a matter of making friends, it was a matter of making skills and producing something that couldn’t be had with any other person.  “Thank you, Ambassador.”

The Ambassador bowed deeply.  “Goodnight, Ms. Grayson.”

Amanda left, finally keying into her room for the night.  She had trouble falling asleep, but it wasn’t the terrorists, or Sybok, or memories of falling over a wall that kept her up.  It was the Ambassador’s words.  Reject the alien hand.  Amanda knew that Tellarite phrase, but it translated much differently into her heavily-Earth-influenced Standard (as her linguistics teacher said, “Standard isn’t standard!”).  She translated it as Scrutinize the stranger’s hand.  It had a much less xenophobic sound to it.

However, if one were to translate the phrase from Tellarik to Vulcan’s Golic and then to Standard… she thought about conjugating the clauses correctly, applying the right quality for the Golic word for “reject” and then... yes, you would get “reject alien blood.”

It was a scary implication that a simple bias in the translation could yield such a different result in Standard.  Vulcans were very well known for not getting along with Tellarites, could it be possible it all came down to bad translations?

If only there was a way to create a program that could just instantly strip the language bare of its suprasegmental qualities, parse the semantics and syntax, and create a perfect translation, universally understood by all who heard it.  Amanda pondered what such a translator would look like and finally fell asleep trying to calculate how much data such a translator matrix would have to store.

 


	3. A Piece in the Puzzle

 

> Tritanium .08%
> 
> Phosphorus .004%
> 
> Aluminum 1%
> 
> Duranium .09%
> 
> Recommendation: Elepsi V is recommended as a high-priority asset and should be reviewed for admittance to the Federation forthwith.
> 
> Detailed Mineral Report of Elepsi V
> 
> Tellarite Mining Commission

 

“He’s an asshole.”

“Yes,” Amanda agreed, carefully nestling the bonzai in a moving box that contained sweaters and socks.

“An asshole so large, he can’t even see his own asshole, such is the nature of his assholeishness.”

Amanda snorted.  “The sentiment, if not the syntax, is correct.”

“Are the wine glasses yours?”

“Yes.”  Jacob added them to the box.  “What’s this thing?”

Amanda looked up to Jacob waving a brass Un,Il statue.  She pouted.  It was one of her favorites.  “That’s his.”  Jacob dropped in in the box with her wine glasses.  She didn’t stop him.  “Why did you put up with him for so long?”

Amanda stopped packing, pushed her bangs out of her eyes and made eye contact with Jacob, who now stood a full head above her.  “Because I thought I loved him, I guess.”

“Love.”  Jacob snorted.  “You are so…”

“Blind?”

“Lenient.  If he’d done that to me, I would put an immediate requisition for two pints of his blood and at least his ear for his lack of loyalty.”

Amanda snorted.  “He wasn’t disloyal,” she said, hating herself a little for sticking up for the man who emotionally gutted her three days ago.  “He’s just not ready for commitment.”

“And that’s another thing!” he said, pointing a finger at the vacant desk that was his.  “Where does he get off, kicking you out of the apartment.  He’s the one who dumped you, you should keep it.”

Amanda sighed.  “I don’t want the apartment.”

“Well maybe I  wanted it.  Look at this view!”  Amanda sighed, ignoring Jacob to resume her packing.  Admittedly, she loved the apartment.  She loved the view, she loved the little shops below and weekend market and the bakery and…

“I don’t want the apartment, because I won’t be here to live in it,” she said quietly, and flinched when Jacob reacted.

“What?!  Where are you going?” Jacob yelped, dropping a box of books.

Amanda grimaced, picking up the things her younger brother dropped.  “There’s a field study opportunity through the university, a transcultural think tank in the beta quadrant.  I’ve got passage booked, and I won’t be back for a year, so it all works out.  I don’t need the apartment, so he can have it.”

Jacob picked up another box off books and stacked them on the others.  “And when, exactly, did you work it out?”

“The day after he dumped me.”

“King of the Assholes.  Don’t look back.”

Amanda murmured her agreement, glad Jacob wouldn’t push it or question her reason for fleeing Earth so soon, but her brother understood her.  When the last box was sealed and packed into the transport, she stood in the doorway and wondered how easily two years of her life could be whisked away in neat little boxes.

“Mandy, ready to go?”

“Yes,” she yelled down the flight of stairs.  “Far, far away.”

\---

Seven months later, Amanda couldn’t imagine ever wanting an apartment with a view of an overcast park or a bakery or anything that wasn’t right here in the small farming village on the shores of Elepsi V.  She felt rejuvenated, completely enamored with the small planet and its inhabitants.  As was her tradition on the fifth day of the smaller lunar calendar, she walked the brilliant pink shores of the south beach towards a cluster of small huts carrying a gift for one of her teachers.

Small children played near the shore while their parents started to harvest the kelp crops that spread out for kilometers from the beach, most of them too shy to acknowledge her formally, but a few brave ones would raise their hands to the sky in greeting.  Amanda tried to return the gesture, but her sun-cover and the bag she carried prevented her from being completely effective.

When she finally arrived at her destination, Wyna was waiting at the doorway.

“Oweka’ll, Amanda!” she called, arms in the air, displaying green and blue torso.

“Oweka’n,” she called back, raising the bag of fruit she brought with her.  “Um’weulil saa witku.”

“Dassanu,” the old woman replied, her full face flush with streaks of orange and green, a sure sign the elder Elepsi was pleased with her gift.  Her hands, old and lined in delicate sea foam green webs, like lace between her fingers, wrapped around the bag of fruit and beckoned her into the hut, which Amanda considered to be one of her favorite classrooms.

Amanda slipped off her sandals at the door, grateful to be out of the sun, which beat down most days with the strength of the Sahara.  She slipped out of her sun-cover, a make-shift poncho made of Rigelian silk and deposited it on a hook near the door, specially placed just for Amanda, the Human who wore clothing.  Amanda knew the Elepsi found her plain compared to the technicolor webs and stripes that decorated their own skin.  She sometimes felt she was a character on an ancient black and white vid dropped into a technicolor planet with bright, brilliant chameleons for neighbors.

“Shahellitutu k’tl?” Amanda asked, dropping herself to the floor in a half lotus position, curious what her native tutor had planned for her today.  Since she had made friends with the Elepsi woman, Amanda had learned more about unt’Elepsi dilect than from any resource in the Federation database.  Perhaps in a year she might have enough data collected to finish her dissertation.

“Evaa’nue,” Wyna gestured to a PADD, which displayed a video of two Elepsi in what appeared to be a play.  Amanda was fascinated by the performing arts of Elepsi.  Pigmentation was just as much a part of the semantics and syntax of the language and the phonemes themselves, and performing a narrative in unt’Elepsi would be impossible for most Humanoids without the color changing organelles found in the second layer of dermis.  Amanda watched in fascination as Wyna replayed the video, highlighting how exactly the actor on stage slowly turned from blue to a deep orange of sunset, with just the skin of his knees and elbows a faint yellow, indicating the deep despair and longing beneath his words.  She took frantic notes, trying to follow how the orange overtaking the blue in such a slow manner, almost like sunrise breaking dawn on Earth, gave the entire exchange a different meaning.

They sat together for an hour, snacking on the fruit Amanda brought and Wyna displaying example after example of unt’Elepsi.  Every week she compiled her information and sent it back to her colleagues on the Universal Translator project, but instead of being programmed into the UT, it sat, backlogged.  It was the greatest frustration of this amazing project:  Amanda could collect a library of information on unt’Elepsi, but they hadn’t figured out how to translate the visual nuances of the language through the UT.

Terran users of Standard had the same issue.  A tilt of the head or a gesture of the hand or a pitch of the voice meant one thing or another, and a combination of all three something different still.  Starfleet cadets, new vid screencasters, and teachers often went through a retraining program that Amanda sarcastically called The More Standard Standard.  The Standard that would be understood by all users of Standard, devoid of the gestures and idioms and cultural nuances that all beings naturally brought to every communicative exchange.

_“But isn’t that what we want, the universal language?” Jacob asked her once, shortly before she left for Elepsi V._

_“There’s no such thing,” Amanda said, waving her hands around, trying to make her point over dinner.  “The Universal Translator project is our best chance at giving million cultures from a million worlds a chance to communicate on an equal footing.  The UT could potentially translate any dialect from any uncontacted world, no training required, no need to strip user’s languages and cultures bare.”_

_“And you need to go half way across the galaxy to do it.”_

_“Elepsi is just one piece to a very large puzzle, Jacob.”_

“Wyna!” a voice called outside the hut.  Wyna’s son Mer stood at the door, both hands in the air, but his face splotched with distressed pale yellow.  As soon as Mer saw Amanda he turned a violent purple, the most common color she saw on Elepsi.

Distrust.  Danger.

Amanda understood her position as an outsider and a monochromatic humanoid that wore clothing, but had spent many months with Wyna, and Mer saw her now as a strange visitor who loved hearing stories.  They called her “Federation’tlk suum” or “Little Federation” with more azure in their skin than purple, so that was progress.  Most of her neighbors understood she wasn’t trying to be deceptive, she just couldn’t change colors and had a physical need for clothing to shield her from the elements.

Mer started speaking rapidly, his skin flashing between worrisome pale yellow, purple, and inky blue.  Wyna’s face turned a sympathetic yellow around the eyelids.

Amanda blanched.  “Casundu?”   _What’s wrong?_

“Problem,” Wyna articulated in halting Standard.  “Federation problem.”  She handed the PADD to  Amanda.  In Standard, and then appended in calligraphed unt’Elepsi, the words laid out the most horrific turn of events.

Elepsi had been admitted into the Federation under the newly created Clause XII of the Protection of Secondary Developing Act, and the Federation dispatched emissaries to facilitate the probationary member status, under the direction of the Tellar Empire.

It was precisely, as Amanda had come to learn over the months, the exact opposite of what the Elepsi leadership wanted.

“Usoo fendua’a Federation qua,” Mer said, his face now completely pink.

Wyna nodded sadly, her face and torso shimmering between violent purple and pink.  “Eswakiray k’tl soo’dua.”   _But what can we do, if they won’t listen._

Amanda pursed her lips.  If someone could make them listen, Amanda was sure she could find a way to make them _understand_.

They had just seven days to figure it out, before the Tellarite mining commission took control of the planet.


	4. Unique Qualities

 

> The Federation described my father as an exceedingly fair and cautious diplomat.  The Surakian Vulcans lauded him for disparaging his aristocratic upbringing for a logical and productive pursuit of peace.  My child’s mind knew him as a hero, but now I see the truth.  He is but another Vulcan afraid of his heritage and therefore unable to fulfill his full potential.
> 
> What Amanda Grayson sees in him, I do not know.
> 
> \-- Sybok, letters to an undisclosed recipient

 

Amanda watched as more of the Elepsi Leadership come into Wyna’s hut, each hued with blotchy pale yellow, so she could assume they had also heard the news.  Tellar had petitioned for Elepsi to join the Federation, against the people’s wishes, in a resource grabbing scheme that bordered on illegal, if the Federation hadn’t just passed a loophole allowing such a thing.

They spoke to each other in loud voices, purple and pink dancing around their faces, highlighting their frustration and distrust.  Amanda felt distinctly uncomfortable, wondering if now would be a good time to excuse herself from Wyna’s quarters.  Surely they didn’t want a Federation citizen in their midsts at the moment.

“Eswakiray k’tl soo’dua?” _But what can we do, if they won’t listen?_

What could they do if the Federation wouldn’t listen?  Elepsi didn’t believe in subterfuge or scheming, and diplomacy was in short supply among a people who wore their feelings plainly across their polychromatic skin for all to see.  And even if they did listen, would they really understand?

“Federation’tlk suum,” one of the Leadership said, pointing to Amanda.  Her nickname, albeit affectionate: _Little Federation_.

“Can you help?”

She opened her mouth, stunned.   _Should_ she help was another question entirely, probably answered within the annals of the contract and inter-community agreement she signed with the Universal Translator Project but certainly didn’t anticipate a people caught in the throes of one of the most underhanded political maneuvering she had ever seen.  She wasn’t so naive to think that the Federation would just take “no thank you, not today” as an answer.  

Could she help?  A doctoral student running solo in a little known research project?  It was laughable how little clout she had with the Federation, but she did have one idea.

Fortunately, that one idea was a name, and the name came with his private communication line, and the code was still valid a decade later.  She felt a little silly, because apparently every time she saw him, something had gone wrong.  This time, it was a fate of an entire planet being swallowed into the Federation against its will, and surely that counted for something to an Ambassador.

She kneeled next to Wyna’s comm unit, hailing and secretly wishing he wouldn’t pick up and she could just leave a message, or a well drafted memo.  Of course, Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan answered immediately.  It was easily coming upon midnight at the embassy near her home, where she assumed he still was, but not a single bit of Sarek looked the least bit dressed down.

“Ms. Grayson.”

“Ambassador,” she said, ducking her head awkwardly in greeting, forgetting her linguistic training as her nerves buzzed.  “I-- I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

“I was meditating.”

Oh, that sounded like she disturbed him a great deal, didn’t it?  “I am sorry, Ambassador, but the matter is urgent.”

“I can only assume it is, hence why I accepted your hail.”  He folded his hands on the desk, nodding for her to continue.

“I’m speaking on behalf of the people of Elepsi,” she started, moving the comm unit so that the Leadership was more visible behind her.  “They have received an edict from the Federation and they are requesting a mediator.”

“Ms. Grayson, I am an ambassador of Vulcan and not a member of the Federation Probationary Committee.  I can transfer your call to them,” he offered kindly, “however, I doubt they will be awake at this hour.”

“That’s not necessary,” she exclaimed, worried he would terminate the call, or worse, send her to a purgatory of committee waiting.  Her tone caused a ripple of bright yellow among the Elepsi Leadership gathered behind her.  “The emissaries have already been dispatched, under the direction of the Tellar Empire,” she said, this time more calmly, remembering the words Wyna had given her.  “The leading body of this planet request an objective representative to observe and act as mediator.”

He could have refused.  He could have transferred her to someone on a more appropriate committee or branch, or any number of people.  But instead he asked her to send Federation edict to him.  Amanda scrambled for the document, sending it per Sarek’s instructions.  She met Wyna’s hopeful face over the screen.

“Cl’athad emr?”   _Is he a good man?_

Amanda nodded.  “Sa cl’athad ihru.” _Yes, he very good at what he does._

Sarek picked up a PADD, scrolled through a few pages.  It was agony.  Finally, he nodded once and looked back into the screen, addressing the Leadership.

“I will arrive in two days.  I will expect your full petition by 1600 Federation time.”

Amanda felt like a lead weight had dropped off her shoulders.  “Yes, Ambassador,” she agreed, grinning ear to ear.  The Elepsi’s finally stopped strobing between colors, settling on a grateful dark green. “Thank you.  This means more than you can possibly know.”

Sarek opened his mouth to say something, but glanced around, as if remembering that he had a rather large audience.  “Thanks are unnecessary, as such matters are within the purview of my position,” he said, logically.  “I suggest a well-planned defense will go farther than gratitude.”

Amanda dutifully interpreted, and the words made the Elepsi that much more green, almost black with gratitude.  After she respectfully signed off, Wyna reached around Amanda’s neck, giving her the gentlest of hugs.

“Dessanu,” the old woman whispered into her ear.  “Dessanu.”

 _Don’t thank me yet_ , Amanda thought, suddenly more nervous now than ever.

\--

Amanda stood in the shade, several meters away from the Elepsi honor guard awaiting the Federation shuttle bearing Ambassador Sarek.  The hot western winds had picked up from the ocean, blowing her floppy shade hat around.  She tried to rearrange her hair for the fourteenth time, but gave up.  It was too hot and too windy to bother, and Sarek, just like the Elespi, would not care if she looked like an eight year old at the beach.

When the shuttle doors finally opened and Ambassador Sarek stepped into the sunlight, instead of immediately acknowledging the honor guard, he turned his head towards the sun.  She fancifully wondered if Elepsi climate was a welcome change to Earth and spaceship climate, and if it reminded him of home.

As soon as the Ambassador had been greeted by the honor guard, Amanda stepped out of her temporary refuge in the shade.

“Ambassador Sarek, live long and prosper.”

“Ms. Grayson,” he said, raising his hand in ta’al.  “Peace and long life.”

“I hope you’ve had a pleasant journey.”  Amanda knew better than to engage in small talk with Vulcans, but did it out of a linguist’s curiosity as to what the Ambassador would do.

He didn’t even pause.  “It was efficient, thank you.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she said brightly.  “If you’d like, I can escort you to your room.”  She glanced over his shoulder where the Elepsi honor guard, comprised of seven representatives of the Leadership families, stood, eagerly awaiting.

“Please lead the way, Ms. Grayson.”

“They don’t use honorifics or family names here.  You could call me Amanda.   _When in Rome_ , as we Terrans say.”

He nodded.  “Then you shall call me Sarek.”  He tilted his head.  “You no longer call yourself Mandy?”

Her cheeks pinked up a bit.  “No one has called me that since I was little.  I’m surprised you remembered.”

His eyes softened a little, making her suspect he was smiling at her.  “You have a unique quality that bears remembering.”

“Is getting into trouble really that unique?”

His lips pressed in what Amanda decided was definitely a smile.  “I believe your adventures have been the most unexpected.  Breaching a level seven security perimeter, consorting with two of Vulcan’s most wanted, finding yourself in the middle of the most important transquadrant incident the Federation has faced in the last century.”

“Transquadrant incident?” Amanda repeated, agast.

Sarek spared a glance to their honor guard, following a few steps behind, and raised his voice slightly, signally their private conversation had ended.  “I would be interested in hearing more the local culture of this area.”

Amanda perked up.  She loved talking about her temporary home.  “You on are an equatorial archipelago, specifically reserved for residents of the Leadership,” she explained.  “The science and industrial programs are located in the northern continents, but the Leadership has traditionally remained in this farming community.”

“I have gathered that much from the Federation database, but little else of cultural note.”

Amanda nodded.  “I can send you copies of my preliminary data from my linguistic study here,” she offered.  “It is still rough, but it might be useful to you,” she added, a little concerned he would feel compelled pass judgement on her life’s work up until now.

“The Leadership is made up of seven lifelong representatives, chosen by through an evaluation of bloodlines and aptitude.  The residents you see here are the extended families of the Leadership, making the total population somewhere around two thousand Elepsi, all nest siblings, life mates, and descendants of those life mates and siblings.”

Sarek looked along the shore where a dozen Elepsi were transporting the harvested kelp through the shallows.  “And they are farmers?”

Amanda nodded.  “Tending the kelp forests is one of the highest callings in life, a sign of devotion to the ecology of the planet.  Every member of the Leadership farms.”  Sarek asked some questions about the kelp, which Amanda couldn’t answer and needed one of the honor guard to answer.  The party’s leader, a nestmate of Wyna, turned pale purple with pride as she explained the growth cycles and care of the forests, obviously pleased by Sarek’s educated questions and didn’t need Amanada’s terrible linguistic groping for a unt’Elepsi word for pnuematocycsts to answer enthusiastically.

They stopped in front of a small hut, like all the other huts in the vicinity, placed without a path or road markers.  Dwellings were organized in a radial fashion, with nest siblings and mates organized in a predetermined order.  As guests not traveling with their extended families, Amanda and Sarek were dispersed in the few random huts on the western side of the island.

“Well, this is you,” she said and pointed to another hut about a dozen meters away, “and that is me.”  Wyna and others had hinted that if she wished, they were happy to accommodate any family or spouses she might acquire.  It had been difficult to find the words to explain how she was the only one in her litter, and she had but one brother from another litter.  “Singleton birth” or even “twin” wasn’t a term when Elepsi had thirty or more children in a litter, all destined to live their lives together in a single area.

Sarek turned around and raised his hands toward the honor guard.  “Dassanu,” he said, in surprisingly passable unt’Elepsi.  They returned his response politely, but flashing a distrustful yellow.  Amanda made a mental note to bring up the issue to Sarek and hoped her point would go over well.

“Shall we continue our discussion inside?”  Amanda touched her wide brimmed hat.  “This can only protect me for so long.”  Sarek nodded, pushing open the door, and she trailed after him.  “The Tellarite emissaries will be here in about an hour.”

“Yes, I am aware of the itinerary,” he replied, depositing his single bag onto the low table.  Amanda removed her floppy hat and smoothed back her hair, which she allowed to grow past her shoulders.  To an Elepsi, Amanda was hued in several shades of brown, giving the impression that she was very serious and dignified.  She could only imagine what they thought of Sarek’s jet black hair.

“There’s a welcoming ceremony in two hours.  The Elepsi don’t eat with strangers, so you’ll be expected to eat alone.”  She gestured to the small camping-style replicator and the basket of fruit.  “You should have everything you need.”

The Tellar delegation is invited as well, but as you know, they’ve declined to stay on the island.  I will be welcoming them in about an hour.”

“There’s one issue I thought I should bring up before you start meditating with the Elespi.”

“Yes?”

“It’s your clothes, I’m concerned they may cause some problems.”

Sarek looked down at his grey and orange robes that covered him from neck to ankle and voluminous sleeves that extended past his wrists.  “What is wrong with my clothing?”

“The Elepsi communicate with their full body, and covering of the body is considered deceitful.  Makeup and clothing would be rude.”  Sarek could not help a pointed look at Amanda’s bright green swimming attire, her preferred uniform.  “But if you aren’t comfortable, I can certainly explain.”

“I see.”  Sarek eyebrows furrowed, as he stared at Amanda’s torso in contemplation.  She wasn’t terribly body conscious, but she still blushed a little under the scrutiny.  Sarek noticed and immediately apologized.

“I don’t understand the function of the garment,” he explained.

“It’s for swimming, a typical Terran style.  Would you like me to replicate something similar for you?” she offered.

Sarek shook his head.  “That is kind, but as you have another engagement, I will take this time to review your notes before the Leadership gathering.”

“I’ll see that they are forwarded to you immediately,” she agreed.  “I know you said it wasn’t necessary, but thank you again for coming.”

Sarek inclined his head.  “My pleasure.”

After she departed, she stopped by her own quarters to forward the drafts of unt’Elepsi data to Sarek.  And she keyed in his comm address with the files, a great many things buzzed in her head.  “Transquadrant incident” sounded even more serious than she initially thought.  However, it was a small phrase that had caught Amanda’s attention and had trouble properly filling it away in her brain.  What exactly did it mean when a Vulcan, who did not lie and did not engage in small talk or Terran conversational niceties, replied with “my pleasure?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new years resolution? More Spirk writing in 2016! :-) I would love to have a couple more stories completed before the new movie.


	5. Less is More

 

 

> Dear Spock,
> 
> Yes, thank you, we are having a wonderful time on Risa.  Your father is particularly enchanted with flora here, we’ve gone on several nature hikes.  I’ve tried and failed to get him to the beach, but he has this ongoing issue with swimsuits.  I could only get him to try it once and he swore he’d never wear one again.  I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving.  Tell your Jim I said hello!
> 
> Love, Mother

 

Amanda had successfully navigated the small delegation from Tellar to the main gathering area in the heart of the Leadership’s village, lead by Ghannor Chis, a middle-aged female who exuded impatience and disgust of the general surroudings.  They were a silent group, but offered no comment or question beyond the acknowledgement of their understanding of the week’s itinerary and protocol.  By the time Amanda arrived at the communal gathering area for the welcoming ceremony, the sun had started to set, making the stone and wood amphitheater glow orange.  It was a well used area.  She had been an observer in Leadership activities in the gathering place, seated in the upper rings looking down below where the Leadership sat at the bottom.  Today, Sarek, the Tellarites, and the Elepsi leadership were assigned seats in the lowest ring of the amphitheater.  She was early, but gratified that Wyna was seated and gesturing to take the seat beside her.

“Oweka’ll, Amanda.”

“Oweka’n, Wyna,” she replied, and craned her neck around, looking for the companion assigned to sit next to her.  “Po rednal suke Sarek?”

“Qa.”  Wyna gestured to the Tellerites, speaking with Sarek across the amphitheater.  She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but at one point Delegate Ghannor Chis made an inarticulate snarl, which drew the attention of the early-arriving Elepsi.  Sarek didn’t react, but bowed respectfully murmuring something in soothing tones.  The Tellarites readily parted to allow him to take his leave and Amanda couldn’t stifle a small gasp.

Sarek had appeared to take Amanda’s advice and replicated an outfit that was less offensive to Elepsi.  Amanda blushed, immediately drawing the notice of Wyna.

“Esua?” she asked clearly intrigued by her Human friend’s sudden change in hue.

Amanda wanted to sink to the floor.  “No, no. Vi’tlk pomue.”

Sarek approached his seat.  He made a polite salute to the gathered delegates, which was returned, with light pink and green mottled patterns across their chests, gratitude mixed with curiosity.  He took his seat with a polite nod to Amanda, which only made her blush a little more.  Wyna looked wry, gesturing back to Sarek.  “Fi’tuso ane Amanda?”

Now Amanda really wanted to disappear, and desperately hoped Sarek didn’t know enough unt’Elepsi to understand Wyna’s cheeky remark.  The last thing she needed was to go into detail about Human’s involuntary changes in color.  She met Sarek’s questioning look.

“I see you found the swimsuit codes in the replicator.”

Sarek nodded.  “Yes, this appeared to be the most appropriate, if one were to wear clothing.  Although participation in cultural practices is always optional, I find making an effort to actively engage in one's surroundings to be rewarding, in most circumstances.”

"That's nice," she murmured.  "It's called a Speedo."  She tried to keep her eyes on his face.  She really did.  But she couldn’t help but notice that all those robes hid a startlingly trim physique.

Fortunately, the welcoming ceremony started, and Amanda easily switched mental gears into interpretation for the off-world guests, which took up her entire mental capacity.  Several welcome speeches, a poem, a short musical piece later, and she couldn’t help but noticed that the restless Tellarites were about ready to stand up and leave.

During the musical number, Sarek leaned on his elbow in her direction.  “Perhaps they think this is unproductive,” he murmured.

Amanda thought as much, “but there’s something else.”

Sarek nodded.  “Elepsi is but one of several planets that have been submitted for admittance into the Federation under Clause XII.  There has been a great deal of discussion about Secondary Development Act, and the scrutiny has magnified some rifts.”

So he had hinted earlier.  But it didn’t explain their obvious distaste toward Sarek, or why they had pushed the Clause so strongly.

“Tellar is threatening to leave the Federation?”  Amanda guessed.

Sarek didn’t respond, which was response enough.  Amanda stared, wide eyed.  Tellar, one of the founding people of the Federation, leave?  It was almost unthinkable, but it was the only situation that made sense.

“This is not well known information,” he said, sounding more surprised than guarded.

“Of course,” she replied.  “We don’t get much news out here, it was just a guess.”

Sarek didn’t reply, but when the musical piece had concluded, his gaze was still on her.

She snuck one more glance at him herself, just to even it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "bow-chicka-wow-wow"
> 
> *blows kisses at the gentle readers* Thank you for reading.
> 
> In another version in my head, Sarek replicates the exact swimsuit Amanda is wearing, which [looks like this](http://www.modcloth.com/shop/twopiece-swimwear/bathing-beauty-two-piece-swimsuit-in-emerald?gclid=CKXZkoz1jsoCFYI_aQodn9EODA) in my mind, and Sarek goes on and on about how the top is much more geometrically suited to his proportions.


	6. A Dozen Elepsi Suns

> Flower green black green 
> 
> twilight orange flecked with white 
> 
> and the color of light behind your eyelids and
> 
> smooth lips black red turning into orange
> 
> and the weight of your hand in mine black pink black
> 
> \-- The Romance of Pil Tam, first verse, unt’Elepsi to Standard

\---

If there was be a silver lining to this situation, it was that it firmly reminded Amanda that she was lucky she never achieved her childhood dream of joining the Tellarite Language Corps.

There was no way that the Tellarite delegates’ behavior could be described as anything other than rude.  The delegation refused all subsequent hospitality that they could reasonably refuse and would not participate or accommodate any of the Elepsi’s initial requests.  By the end of the third day, Amanda had gotten over her general embarrassment and adopted a robotic “would you please relay to Delegate Gharron Chis that the Elepsi request to not eat during the general council meetings?”  The Leadership had gone from distressed yellow, to confused teal, to grey flecked with burnished orange.

Amanda asked Wyna what that particular pattern meant.  Instead of answering, she showed Amanda an old Elepsi holo of a famous statue “General Kep Ready to Destroy The Enemy” in the same colors.  Amanda made a mental note to add the example to her data for the Universal Translator project.

Delegate Chis either hated Amanda or just hated everything Amanda said, it was really difficult to tell the difference.  She got the distinct feeling that Chis did not trust her.  Amanda attempted explaining-- in both Standard and Tellar-- the limits of her role, but Chis fumed and argued and addressed her grievances with Amanda.  She wasn’t an official representative of the Leadership, she was just a translator, and not a terribly adept one at that.  She was much more comfortable as an observer, not an instrument of the participants.

There was another highlight, a secondary and surprising one.  Amanda had acquired a temporary dinner companion, something she had desperately missed since leaving Earth.  As she and Sarek both came from cultures that enjoyed communal eating, Amanda was happy to join Sarek in meals when possible.  They had a shared interest in botany, Sarek’s interest in the ancient kelp forests when he had arrived hadn’t been a passing comment, so Amanda made an effort to find some local literature on the subject.  Sarek had read all of her initial data and was showing some elementary proficiency in unt’Elepsi.

“Tellarite eyes have even fewer photoreceptors than Andorians,” Sarek remarked over lunch on the third day.  On this particular occasion, they were perched at the top of the amphitheater gathering area, the only corner with shade in deference to Amanda.  They lounged casually with plates of lunch on their laps, looking out onto the kelp forests in the distance.

Amanda snorted into her pasta at Sarek’s glib observation.  “Are you saying that they aren’t willfully deaf, just blind to unt’Elepsi?”

“Nothing of the sort,” he replied, his lips quirked oh so slightly, indicating his amusement.  “But there is some logic to the suggestion.”

She rolled her eyes, but was glad for any chance to make light of the tense mediation.  She was also thankful that Sarek was here.  In just a few hours of discussion, it was obvious that his skills lay in getting to the heart of the matter while still diffusing tension.  There were several times she thought the entire meeting was going to erupt into a fight.  Every Leadership member flashed grey and orange at some point, but Sarek would interrupt with a question or comment that would make even the Tellarites settle down.  Amanda enjoyed parsing the words to its core in her mind, noting the careful use of Standard, the precise vocabulary he used, the gentle and reflective use syntax.  There were many reasons she wasn’t in politics, but one could appreciate the art.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be at this?” Amanda wondered aloud.  From their vantage point she could see the Tellarite delegation entering the amphitheater and pacing around the bottom.  Ghannor Chis looked particularly annoyed, glaring up at Amanda and Sarek.

“I have received information that will end this meditation very soon.”

Amanda’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh?”

“I have been enlightened as to the forces that have brought us together,” Sarek revealed.  If he was human, Amanda would have thought he was being a tad smug.

Amanda leaned forward, aware of the ears below.  “Care to share?”

Sarek glanced below where Ghannor Chis was glaring at them below bushy eyebrows.  He shook his head.  “Perhaps you would care to discuss this in my quarters?”

Her jaw would have dropped if it hadn’t been full of pasta.

“I have a document that I think you would be most interested in reviewing, but this area is not appropriate” Sarek continued.  Too intrigued to decline, she set aside her lunch.  They left the amphitheater quietly, but she couldn’t help glancing back to see Chis eyeing them speculatively.  She followed him all the way to his assigned hut.  When the door closed and they could be assured of privacy, she turned upon him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is incorrect,” Sarek said serenely, reaching for a PADD.

Amanda huffed. Purposely obtuse Vulcans were probably the worst.  “But something isn’t right.”

Sarek handed her the PADD without comment.  Amanda scanned the article, a report from the Tellar Mining Commission.  “Where did you get this?”

“I have my sources.”  Amanda shot him a look, but didn’t press.  “What drew my immediate attention was the the duranium.”

“What is duranium?”

“A highly sought after mineral processed exclusively by the Tellar Empire.”

“But plentiful here.” Amanda inferred.  “We all expected that.  Even I recognized the Chis name, her family has been connected to the Tellar Mining Commission for generations.”

“Indeed.  However, it was the geographic descriptions of the duranium deposits that caught my interest.  The pockets are found in the shoals of this area, buried just beneath the crust of the ocean floor, the richness of the mineral deposits support a vibrant ecosystem.”

Understanding finally dawned.  “The kelp forests.”

Sarek nodded.  “And Clause II strictly prohibits the removal or destruction of resources that would prohibit or otherwise negatively impact the local culture.”

“But if the Tellarites withdraw--”

“The Tellar Empire are unlikely to withdraw over one planet,” Sarek said.  “This, however, will give the Federation time.”

“So you win this battle for the larger war to preserve the Federation?”

“Astute, as always,” Sarek acknowledged.  “However, that will be a concern for other minds.  In the meantime, I will submit these findings with my recommendation that Elepsi’s entrance into the Federation be rejected.  If I leave now, I will be able to argue before the current council session and I project the Leadership will receive our answer within the week.”

It could work.  Amanda beamed, feeling like a fifty kilo weight had been lifted off her shoulders.  “Just like that?”

“I believe, in this case, expediency is important.”

“No, I mean…” Amanda gestured helplessly in the air.  “You just… wow.  Thank you.  I cannot thank you enough.”

Sarek’s face softened.  “Your gratitude is unnecessary.”

Amanda let out a small sigh, expelling the last of the worry and stress she hadn’t realized she carried for so long.  She felt oddly empty without it.

“So this is goodbye, then.”

“Yes, it would appear to be the conclusion of our association.”

That left her a little sad.  “Until the next emergency,” she said, offering a small smile which Sarek returned with his eyes.  “I won’t keep you, then.  Peace and long life, Sarek.”  She raised her hand in ta’al, which Sarek returned.

“Live long and-- Amanda?” He dropped his hand, suddenly.

“Yes?”

He paused, looking at her intently.  It was unnerving, but whatever he was looking for he obviously found and could continue.

“May I request to continue this relationship, but in a romantic capacity?”

She meant to respond, she really did, but all the words of all the languages she’d ever learned had vanished.

Sarek, on his part, looked vaguely green.  “I acknowledge my request may appear abrupt, but the hours I have spent with you have been mutually enjoyable, and there are many qualities that I admire about you.”

“Even the trouble part?” she asked wryly, finally finding her tongue.

“I believe it is your curiosity that leads to trouble, but I cannot find fault in that,” Sarek admitted in a rush, and it warmed Amanda more than a dozen Elepsi suns.  “I would regret not taking the opportunity to know you better.  I understand the situation isn’t ideal, what with your work here--”

“I’ll be back on Earth in six months,” she offered, offering her hand to him.

“Ah,” he said faintly, clasping it in his own.  “As will I.”

“I’m a very good letter writer.  And I’ve always wanted to practice my High Golic with someone more fluent than I.  Do you know any pre-Reformation vocabulary?”  Sarek nodded absently, his eyes focused on their clasped hands.  He wiggled his fingers a little against her palm and then withdrew.

“Forgive me,” he said.  “That was more intimate than you realize.”

Amanda smiled.  “Kissing, you mean?”  She extended her hand again.  “It’s not so intimate as a Human kiss.  I don’t mind.”

Sarek frowned slightly, but took her hand anyway.  “I would not know about Human affection.”

She gave an impish grin.  “Would you like to?”  She leaned close, tilting her head up and looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.  Sarek tilted his head inquisitively, not making a move to close the distance between them.  She pulled back, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

He blinked, surprised.  “Are  _ you _ going to kiss  _ me _ ?”

She huffed, and reached up to drag his head so that they were finally nose to nose.   _ He was silently laughing at her, she could tell _ .  “Do you want to be kissed?”

He tried to at look her closely, but ended up slightly cross eyed for his effort.  “So far, it does not appear pleasant.”

“Shut up.”  She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his softly.  He didn’t reciprocate, but she wasn’t deterred.  She pressed again, this time swiping her tongue against his lips, tasting copper and spices.  Her fingers moved from his jaw to his ears, finally stroking the delicate tips, delighting in the texture of his skin and hair.  It was only a few moments, but when she opened her eyes to find Sarek looking back, puzzled.

“Is that a kiss?”

She huffed.  “Yes.  What do you think about it?”

“It is… a much more intimate custom than I had thought.”

“Unpleasantly so?”

Sarek shook his head.  “Not…”

“Not what?”

Sarek considered her in that same weighing look he had given the first night on Elepsi.  “Not when it is with you.”

Pleasure bloomed in her chest.  “Oh.  Well, that’s alright then.” 


	7. Candlelight

> Amanda, you allude to a story that sounds fascinating, but I shall abide and wait until you are here next week.  I imagine the telling shall be enhanced by your physical presence.  I look forward to this, and much more.
> 
> \- letters to Elepsi from Earth, encrypted in High Golic

 

“WHAT THE EUUUMMMTK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?”

Amanda wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor, but absolutely refused to cower in front of the one person standing between her and her doctorate.  She was thankful the UT couldn’t translate all of the expletives, but she new enough Selay to know he’d insulted her intelligence and her height so far.

“I can fix this,” she replied, calm and confident.  “I just need a few more days.”

“Days?!  You have hours.  If this data doesn’t make it into the new UT code by tomorrow morning, I will make sure that you spend your career teaching intro to Andorian in a primary school, do I make myself clear?”

As soon as she was alone, Amanda allowed herself a moment to drum her head against a wall.  The entire applied linguistics department was empty, so no one had seen her dressing down, so there was one silver lining.  She has the entire office to herself, so she could work undisturbed.  That counted for something.

However, it seemed cruel that today, of all days, she was going to have to pull an all nighter and fix her data set before it was forwarded to the engineers.  It was the first night in years she actually had  _ plans _ .

She took a deep breath, rubbed her face, and patted back her hair and reached for her personal comm.

“Amanda, good evening.”

“Hello, Sarek.  How are you?”

From the screen it looked like he was still at his office in the Federation consulate.  He was dressed in his grey and orange robes she never saw, since he saved their infrequent comms for when he was in the privacy of his home.  “I am doing well, and looking forward to this evening.”

“About that,” she sighed.  “I’m afraid I will have to cancel our dinner plans.  Something came up with my aggregate data, and I need to work overnight to fix it.”

Sarek nodded reluctantly.  Over the months Amanda had learned to read his expressions, small and subtle as they were even on the tiny comm screen.  He was disappointed.  “I understand.”

His calm acceptance made her feel even worse.  “I am so sorry, you can’t even imagine how much I was looking forward to tonight.”

He shook his head, waving his hand dismissively.  “I, too, deeply regret this turn in events but we can have, as you say here, a raincheck.”

She smiled weakly.  It had taken them three weeks to arrange an extended, uninterrupted private date in a mutually acceptable location.  Finishing a dissertation and serving as ambassador to Earth did not leave them much room room for normal socializing.  “Yes, we’ll do that.”

“I’ll have my secretary contact you tomorrow to coordinate again?”

Ugh.  She felt like she was trying to schedule a dentist appointment, not a date with her… whatever he was.  “Yes, let’s do that.”

Sarek signed off, albeit reluctantly, and Amanda was left alone, feeling sad for herself and sad for the gorgeous blue dressing waiting for her first date in over two years.  She got a refill on her coffee, slipped off her shoes, and settled in for a long night.

Two hours later, when in kinder and more just dimension she and Sarek would have been starting the second course at some posh restaurant recounting all the stories they never wrote in their letters or said in their infrequent comms, she heard the most unlikely sound.

“Amanda?” a voice called from the hallway.  She looked up from her desk to where Sarek stood in the threshold, resplendent in emerald and purple Vulcan dress robes, carrying a black plastic tub.  He looked like a prince from a children's fairy tale novel in the middle of her dingy university office.

Behind him the night custodian piped up, “A friend of yours, Ms. Grayson?”

“Yes,” she said, hopping up from her swivel chair.  “Thanks for letting him in, I’ll take it from here!”

The custodian nodded and went on her way.

“What are you doing?” Amanda asked, sincerely delighted.

“You could not come to me,” Sarek said simply, “so it was logical for me to to come to you.”  He held out a large metal tub.  “I come bearing supplies.”

“Supplies?”

Sarek nodded, setting the tub on her desk and opening it.  A heavenly smell wafted into her stale office air.  “For our first date.”  He removed a platters of mushroom risotto and spinach stuffed shells.

“You brought dinner?”

Sarek pulled out a red checkered cloth.  “I am told this goes on the floor and we are to dine recumbent upon it.”

She grinned.  “A picnic?”  Sarek nodded, obviously happy that that he had pleased her.  A midnight picnic in her office in the face of this terrible mess was exactly what she wanted.  He removed several plates, a decanter of bright yellow wine, and several other items and knelt in his dress robes and spread them out on the blanket at her feet.

“Real candles?” she exclaimed as he brought them out, lighting them one by one with practiced ease, bathing the room in a soft glow.

“Join me?” he asked, extending his hand.  Amanda took it, delighting in the courtly behavior, allowing her hand to linger in his.  She smiled wider as he moved his two fingers against her in a sweet lingering kiss. She helped him assemble the plates and curled up next to him on the blanket, glass in hand, surrounded by office furniture, PADDs and charts.

“Where did you get the idea for this?” she said, after swallowing a delightful mouthful of the wine.

Sarek didn’t meet her eyes, preferring to inspect the sauteed vegetables.  “Ambassador Kingston mentioned the tradition.”

She almost choked on the risotto.  “You chatted with Ambassador Kingston about our date?”

“Yes, is that a problem?”

“I wrote a report on Madeleine Kingston in primary school.  I wanted to be her when I grew up.”

“What a precocious child you must have been,” Sarek mused.  “She also suggested this,” he added, displaying a music cube.  With a deft move, he turned it on, soft string music filling her office.  Amanda hummed in approval.

“This is wonderful, thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, raising his glass to clink against hers, his eyes warm in the candlelight.  “To many more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little light sweet snack before a meatier chapter. Thank you for your kind notes and kudos last chapter, you warm my heart and keep me fueled :-)


	8. Cordially Invited to Dinner

 

> Be it known that Amanda Nadia Grayson, having honorably fulfilled all the requirements imposed by the authorities of this Institution and the Governing Board of PanEuropa University, upon recommendation of the faculty, do therefore confer the Degree Doctorate of Xenolinguistics specializing in Computer Sciences with all the honors, rights and privileges thereto pertaining given this day.

 

Amanda loved family dinners.  She loved her parents’ old rambling home in the older part of Seattle.  She missed the worn kitchen table, the old fashioned 2D photographs, and the gray cat that lived in the kitchen window.  She savored the smell of her mother’s cooking and the garden her father kept, filled with basil and rosemary and Andorian quep.  Above all, she missed her family, and was happy to be back.

It was a pity her family didn’t believe her.

“Don’t you want to enjoy a little vacation time before you go away again?” Oskar Grayson grumbled, adding another serving of cabbage rolls to Amanda’s plate.  “We never get to see you.”

“The Universal Translator project doesn’t even know if they’ve secured the funding for another satellite operation,” Amanda explained, digging in immediately.  “Until then, I’ve been offered a position in the San Francisco offices from PanEuropa.”

“You can commute from here,” Aisha argued.  “It’s only 40 minutes by public transport.”

“But only three minutes when I live there.”

“Bah!  Everywhere is San Francisco is 40 minutes away, better to commute from home.  Where will you live?”

“It’s a good set up,” she hedged.  “Only a quick walk from the extension office.”

“That close?  How would you afford it, you’re not even being paid a full stipend yet.”

“There’s a roommate.”  Thankfully, her parents accepted that at face value and started to talk about plans to vacation in Istanbul with Grandmother before Jacob left for his second commission with Starfleet Medical.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be able to join you at Grandmama’s,” Amanda said regretfully.  “I think I’ll be too busy getting settled here.”

“You mean too busy with your boyfriend.”

Her parents never noticed Jacob’s wince at her well placed kick, because they had stopped eating and stared openly at her.  Dammit, she hadn’t said anything to her brother, but he had made some pointed comments about her busy schedule in the evenings and her never-there roommate since she was Earthside four months ago.

“Boyfriend?” Aisha asked, her voice taking on an excited shrillness.  “You never mentioned a boyfriend.  Is it serious?”

“It’s been mostly long distance,” she said, and stuffed another cabbage roll in her mouth and chewed slowly.

“Where is he from?”

Amanda chewed.

“What does he do?” Oskar added.

“What’s his name?” Jacob chimed in

Amanda chewed some more, for good measure.

“Mandy,” Aisha chidded, “are we going to meet this young man?”

She finally swallowed.  “No.”

“No?  What do you mean, ‘no’?” her mother exclaimed, adding more cabbage rolls to Amanda’s plate without it even being close to empty yet.

“He’s busy.  I’m busy.  It’s just not the perfect time.”

“Perfect time,” Oskar grumbled.  “There is no perfect time, just comm him and introduce him to the family.”  He paused, his bushy eyebrows furrowing over his sharp eyes.  “Or is it something else?”

“No!”

“Then invite him over,” Aisha weedled.  “For dinner or just tea.  We want to meet your young man.”

“I--” Amanda glared at Jacob, but no help from that corner.  At least he looked a little repentant.  “It’s not that simple, he’s… _very_ busy.”

“Busy?”  Aisha looked troubled.  “Amanda… is he _married_?”

“What?  No!”  Amanda made a face.  “Mother, he’s… do you know Ambassador Sarek?”

The family nodded.  Aisha worked as a journalist for three decades covering Federation interior policy.  Oskar was in the import/export business with trade through two quadrants.  Of course they knew who Ambassador Sarek was, like most anyone knew who the Federation president was.  The name came up on occasion in their line of work.

“Does he work for the Ambassador?” Oskar guessed.

“No, Dad, he _is_ the Ambassador.”

There was a stunned beat of silence before Aisha broke it.

“Honestly Mandy, if we needed to serve vegetarian for him, you could have just said so.”

\---

Two hours later she entered her new-to-her apartment, greeted by the welcoming smell of wia’tu herb burning.

“Sarek?  I’m home,” she called into the dim living space.  The lights turned on and Sarek appeared from the corner study, dressed in his dark scarlet inner robe, looking as if he was ready to retire for the night.

“How was your family dinner?” he asked courteously, taking her bag and depositing it on the side table.  Amanda allowed him to escort her to a low couch while she recounted Jacob’s news from Starfleet Medical and Aisha’s imminent retirement plans.  Sarek traced her collarbone and spine with clever fingers, making her tension melt so in minutes she was a happy puddle, melted into his side.  She sighed, enjoying the warm weight of his arm around her shoulders and the spicy smell of the incense.

“They’ve invited you to dinner.”  Amanda was still a little nervous about his reaction, despite several conversations over the past few months about this particular topic.

“I would be honored to accept,” Sarek replied benignly.  Amanda looked at him sharply.  “It was you, _ashayam_ , who wanted to keep our relationship private from your family.”

“I’m not the only one trying to maintain our privacy.  Sybok doesn’t even know.”

Sarek mouth tightened, and his eyebrows furrowed just enough for that thin line of worry to appear, and Amanda immediately regretted bringing up the issue.  “If Sybok would return my comms, I assure you I would inform him of our relationship status.”

“I know, [ ni'droi'ik nar-tor ](http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/main.php?cmd=details&id=10705),” she said softly in apology.  Sybok apparently had left the consulate position three years ago and Sarek had lost touch with him eighteen months after that.  Sarek suspected he had gone ‘off the grid’ with some religious order, but the details were sketchy at best.  She new he worried about his son, and was still expending resources to find him.  Amanda hummed to herself, now tracing the knuckles of his right hand, eliciting a happy huff.  

“I want you to come to dinner,” she said after a long silence.  “I want my family to know you.”

“And I,” Sarek said, bringing her hand to his lips, “want to know the people who raised such a brilliant woman.”

“Are you going to bed soon?”

“To sleep?” his voice deepening, and captured her lips in a lingering Human kiss that she felt in her toes.  “Not yet, and neither are you.”

\---

“Yes, and thank you,” Amanda said, gripping the edges of her chair to keep herself from bouncing off.  “I’m sure I can be ready by then.  Absolutely.”

“Wonderful, Dr. Grayson, we look forward to working with you.”

The comm signed off and Amanda punched the air and screamed “YES!!!” causing several of her office mates to stop and peer over their computers.  She spun a few times in her chair, trying to calm down and descend from her high enough to make all the necessary calls and figure out how best to start.

First, Sarek.

That made her smile even more.  Sarek.  She couldn’t wait to tell Sarek, she knew how proud he’d be and pleased by the surprising turn of events.  This really couldn’t have happen at a better time.

By the time she was done with work at the her temporary office, she practically skipped home.  On her way, she picked up some groceries, kas-mur, thuhk and rice for a stir fry.  On a whim she bought dark chocolate truffles, because she loved them and because she thought Sarek might be teased into trying one, even after he had divulged to her the unfortunate (drunken) side effect of processed sugar.  She keyed into the apartment, singing to herself, arms full of bags and didn’t see Sarek was already home until she was in the kitchen.

“You’re home early,” she commented, dropping her groceries on the counter and flitting over to give him a giddy kiss on the top of his head.  “I’ve got good news.”

“Ah,” he said.  Silly Vulcan, always unsure how to respond to Amanda’s unplanned displays of affection.  She pecked him again for good measure.  “I, too, have news.”

The weight of his voice made her pause.  “Is it Sybok?” she asked, fearful he had heard something heartbreaking.

Sarek shook his head.  “Ambassador T’Loi needs to take an unplanned retirement from her position on the Vulcan High Council.  In light of this development, the council has recalled me from Earth.”

Amanda slowly sank into the chair, unsure of how to answer.

“They have recalled two others for consideration,” he explained.  “One has declined and the other has twenty fewer years experience than I.  I am a strong candidate, suited exceptionally for this position,” he said plainly, absent of hubris.  “It is a logical next step in my career.”

“That’s wonderful,” she said, her voice becoming thick.  “On Vulcan.  Wow.”

“You have news?”  Sarek didn’t comment on her emotional state, but not because he hadn’t noticed.  He reached out to take her hand gently in his.

“The Universal Translator project offered me a lead position on the research and development team.  Here.  On Earth.”

The grip on her hand tightened.  “Congratulations.”

Amanda gave a wobbly laugh.  “I thought it would be perfect for me, for, you know... but now…”

“Nothing has been decided,” Sarek pointed out, soothingly.  “I will do whatever you wish, ashayam.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”  It wasn’t fair to put something like this in her lap.  She wasn’t in charge of anyone but herself.  “Whatever I want?  What about you?”

“I do not understand.”

“Sarek, what do you want?  I’ve never asked for any promises, no proposals or anything other than what we have now, but if we’re going to make this work beyond the next two weeks, I need something to know I’ve got more than just you until the next time the Vulcan High Council needs you.  Someone or something is always going to need you, and I need to know where I fit in all of that.   _That_ is what I want.

“So what do you want?”

His mouth opened, and then closed.  He blinked several times, and she thought for a moment that she may have broken him.  “I-- I--”

“Because if you don’t tell me, in simple, plain Standard, exactly what you want, I am going to walk out of that door and never look back.”  Her voice was clear and reasonable, but she was shaking on the inside.  “I deserve your honesty.”

“I do not want to go,” he said, the hands at his side lifted, as if to hold her, and then dropped back down.  “Not if it means we cannot be together.”

“I can’t stay with you, you have to go back to Vulcan, and I have my work...”

“Then I will follow you.  I cannot be parted from you.”

The air between them became still and Amanda wasn’t sure that she heard what she thought she just heard.  Sarek looked like he was a little surprised he said it as well.

“Do you mean that?” she asked, breathless.

Sarek nodded.  “I cannot accept the position if it would mean leaving you.  I could not accept anything less than having you with me, in whatever way we could fashion.”

Her heart felt like it would burst, as if all the little pieces that made up Sarek finally came into alignment and she could see, really truly _see_ the wonderful person that she had fallen in love with, and who returned her affections just as ardently, in his own way.

“Are you proposing?”

“Marriage?” Sarek clarified, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“Don’t you have marriages on Vulcan?”

“I would be honored to have you as my wife,” Sarek said, his hand now trembling within hers.  “But it is a complicated matter, and I have not been entirely forthcoming since the inception of our romantic relationship.”

Now _that_ did _not_ sound promising.  The giddy warm feeling suddenly shot from her stomach and lodged somewhere in her throat.

“I am not free to marry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> published without comment, but lots of heart shaped candy and kisses for everyone.


	9. A Reference

> The first four hours of the koon-ut-kal-if’fee are the most dangerous for the intended.  At the earliest opportunity and when most practicable, place both hands firmly upon the intended’s face and press your face to the intended’s.  Do not look the intended in the eye.  Do not allow the intended’s teeth near your neck or other vulnerable areas until the bond is complete.  

  * > A Reference




The warm giddy feeling that had been building in her stomach was lodged somewhere in her throat.

“You must understand, I am not free to marry.”

And now that feeling was threatening to move upward and splash onto Sarek’s shoes.

“You’re married?!”  She pressed a hand to her mouth.  “My mother was right?”   _ Do not vomit.  Do not vomit. _

Sarek frowned.  “No.  Why do you think I am married?  Why does your mother?”  He reached out his hand, taking Amanda’s wrist away from her mouth and held it within his own.  “I would never wrong you.  I simply cannot marry whomever I choose.  My marriage would require the approval of several individuals and is a complicated matter in the most ideal situation.”

Even in her distress, Amanda could read through the delicate phrasing.  “It’s because I’m Human, isn’t it?”

Sarek nodded.  “In part.  You are Human and very young.  Sybok is four years your senior and not yet an acknowledged adult on Vulcan.”

Amanda made a face of disgust.  “I am not a child.”

“Nor would anyone mistake you as such, but the fact remains, you would not be perceived as an ideal marriage partner.  These things are arranged.”

Amanda stood, tugging on Sarek’s hand to lead them to the couch.  “I have many questions,” she warned him, “so get comfortable.”  She tucked herself under his arm and he waited for her first question.

“You said you weren’t married to Sybok’s mother.”

“T’Rea and I had our initial bonding, the Kah-ka, arranged by our parents when we were both children.  As a young man I refused to fully consummate the bond and marry her.”  Sarek sighed.  “I was brash and idealistic at that age.  I was convinced that the union was ill advised, so I left Vulcan to work in the consulate on Earth, never knowing that Sybok had been conceived.”

“What happened to her?”

“She became a Master of Gol, an exceedingly difficult accomplishment.  There came a point where she could no longer keep Sybok with her, so he was sent to me as a teenager.”

“The summer I first fell into your garden,” Amanda remembered, from Sarek’s previous stories.

He nodded.  “I didn’t know how to be a husband, let alone a father.  They may have been content to let me slip into bachelorhood if Sybok hadn’t disappeared and the family lineage wasn’t resting with me.”

“I thought you had a sister.”

Sarek nodded.  “T’Mae.  It might surprise you to know that she is not eligible to inherit the family estate, as she is female.”  Amanda was shocked, it sounded primeval.  “Not on most of Vulcan, of course.  However there are small bastions of conservative, traditional families, old families such as mine, that hold on to ways that predate Surak.”

“I had no idea.  It must have been a shock when you refused to marry,” Amanda mused.

“It was.  S’chn T’gai is one of the old ancient lines that can be traced to the founders of our home city of ShiKahr.  My father, Skon, still maintain the old title of S’haile of ShiKahr.  T’Rae was princess of another family from a neighboring province.”

“So, you’re royalty.”

“Not as such,” Sarek denied.  “The old conservative ways have been outdated for centuries and support a poorly balanced and marginalized society that has no place in modern Vulcan or the Federation.”

“But you haven’t renounced it, or we wouldn’t be having his conversation.”  Sarek tightened his arm around her, as if trying to comfort the sting of the situation.

“As much as I can.  As a Vulcan, I am dependant upon my family and the mental bonds we have.  We are a symbiotic community, even across systems and generations.  It is why I still search for Sybok, although he does not wish to be found.  It is why I am not free to marry whomever I wish.  You would be bonded to me, and in turn, them, and they would show no kindness to you.  You would never be accepted and we would all live with the strain.  It could cause madness.”

“You’re assuming they wouldn’t like me.”

Sarek opened his mouth, then closed it, surprised.

“Why would you assume they wouldn’t like me?  I won you over.”

“You did,” Sarek conceded, a little doubtful.

“Besides, if we couldn’t be married in the Vulcan way, we can always be married on Earth.”

Sarek’s arms twitched, but he didn’t answer right away.  Amanda sighed.  “Okay, give it to me.  All of it.”

Sarek sat up straighter, but didn’t look Amanda in the eye.  “My sister, T’Mae, is bonded to her intended, Stutok, and will likely be married in the next two years.”  Sarek paused meaningfully, looking at her sidelong.  “Vulcans do not set dates for their marriages.  They happen… naturally.”

“Naturally.  Like they wake up one morning, and just know that today is the day?”  It just sounded so  _ illogical _ .

“In a sense, yes.  Some types of Terran fauna are similar in that nature, as I recall.”

Amanda met Sarek’s sidelong look.  “Animals don’t get married.”  Sarek waited for the penny to drop and her eyes went wide.  Sarek nodded and then cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.  “Sarek… do you go into  _ heat? _ ”

A thin stripe of green graced the tops of his cheekbones, the only indication that he was less than detached from this educational conversation.

“That word seems so indelicate.”

Amanda snorted.  “So explain it delicately.”

Sarek sighed, the largest emotional outburst she had witnessed to date.  “Please wait here.”  He disappeared into the bedroom and reemerged with a small, rectangular package.  He rejoined her on the couch and handed her a small, brown cloth (with real paper!) bound book, etched in delicate High Golic.

A Reference

The small bound book was a curiosity, as Vulcan had kept digital records for thousands of years and paper was impractical for so many reasons.  The title was unusual, as she had already read  Twelve Mediocre Descriptions of the Sand Forests to the South and  A Book Serving as a Record of Sinok, Third Mayor of ShiKarr’s Detailed Plans for Expanding The Library .  Vulcans had a knack for labeling.   A Reference was easily the most intriguing title, and when the book fell open into her hands, she could see why.  There, in black and white, were hand-etched drawings of sexual partners engaged in various positions, with particular detail and notes related to the hands and spines.

“Is this… a sexual manual?”

Sarek looked past her to the front door, as if the Vulcan Morality Police might enter at any moment.

“Yes.  I thought you would appreciate the clinical perspective.”

Amanda flipped through the first few pages, an introduction of pon farr, and went onto several chapters outlining the neurological and psionic considerations of  _ plak tau _ , which translated quite literally into “blood fever.”  Amanda brought the book closer as the print became smaller and less discernible.  In the middle of the book, she came to the rest of the diagrams.

“Well, that’s interesting,” she commented, holding the book vertically to better understand how the limbs fit together.  “Is that one even physically possible?”

Sarek allowed his eyes to leave the window to evaluate the centerfold that caught her attention.  “Yes.”

Amanda’s eyebrows quirked up.  “Have you tried it?”

“Most Humans do not have the required balance or strength to--”

“Yeah, but is it enjoyable?”

“I haven’t tried it myself, but you could be the judge of that.”

Amanda smirked a little and continued to flip through the rest of the book, then turned again to the beginning to read more thoroughly.  It was an easy read, once she got used to the modal particles of High Golic, signifying tense.  She would pause every ten minutes or so with a question.  Sarek answered any questions she had in full, albeit clinically.

“Every seven years?”

Sarek nodded.

“How close are you to--”

“One year, twenty seven days, with a margin of 2.74 Earth days.”

Amanda traced the side of page 133, the end of the chapter on post care and first aid following plak tow, with her finger, deep in thought.

“I can see marriage is the obvious solution for this…  _ biological function _ , but without a spouse, what did you do before?”

“There are individuals who serve as adepts in this area.  They are highly trained Vulcans who are proficient in escorting the afflicted through the blood fever safely.  There are those that have mastered the art of meditation, but the odds are poor at my age.  There is also the kal-if-fee, a mating fight to the death.”

She knew her own, personal Vulcan’s well ordered exterior hid depths of emotion, but this was much more than she could imagine.  She couldn’t picture Sarek picking up a lirpa, and didn’t want to ever see it.

Amanda took a moment to sift through all that Sarek hadn’t said.  “You would use the services of one of these adepts again?  Even if we were...” she trailed off, not sure how to finish.

“I would want to consider all options carefully.  It is a dangerous time.  Few Humans could withstand a marital bond, let alone the effects of the fever.”  Sarek’s eyes became haunted.  “I could not live with myself if I truly hurt you, Amanda.”

She nodded, patting his shoulder and seriously considering.  “Is there anything else I should know?  Anything at all?”

Sarek opened his hand, extending it to Amanda again.  She took it, warm and sure.  “Just that I love you, for whatever it is worth, in your estimation.”

She squeezed his hand, then followed it with kiss along the side of his index finger.  “I don’t want to settle for anything less than you.  I know there’s a lot of obstacles, but if you’re willing to try, I think we can have it all.”

“I do believe you are right,” he said, returning her affection, the smallest feeling of surprised wonder ebbing through her skin.  “I should never underestimate you, Amanda Grayson.”

“Damn straight.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many many thanks to mightymads for showing me
> 
>  
> 
> [this fantastic thing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzYxKidfyBI)
> 
>  
> 
> and changing the course of this story for the better. What a gem :-)
> 
> Much love to all the gentle readers, have a wonderful rest of your day, walkandtalk


	10. Fit to be Tied

 

> ½ cup dyrk
> 
> 4 tbsp khlup
> 
> 1 cup of sugar
> 
> ½ cup of kov-sayas
> 
> 4 tbsp of Rhombolian butter
> 
> ½ cup of savas (reserve the juice)
> 
> \-- Amanda’s adapted recipe for Aisha Grayson’s Raspberry Triffle

 

Early mornings on Vulcan were Amanda’s favorite.  Most Vulcans preferred not to stir outside in the cool air of dawn, but Amanda savored the quiet and the beauty outside their home in the West District of ShiKahr.  The stars were still out sometimes and Amanda would try to find Sol or the system Jacob was in.  Even the thin air allowed her to go for a run during those first hours.  She was return home and Sarek would have coffee and breakfast waiting and they would start their day companionably reading or he would leave for the consulate or she would leave for the satellite office housed within the Vulcan Cultural Institute.  In the evenings they would dine out, or take in a symphony or poetry reading.  There was a small community of non-Vulcan Federation citizens who made up the majority of her social circle.

This morning she walked up the stairs to their flat to find that Sarek was nowhere to be found in the kitchen.  She peered into their bedroom, surprised to see him still sprawled out where she left him.

“Sarek?” she called.  “Are you feeling well?”

Sarek grumbled in answer.  She reached out to press her hand to his forehead and Sarek’s hand struck out to grab her wrist.

“Ow, it’s just me,” she said, tugging her arm out of his vice like grip.  “Sarek, let go.”

“Amanda?”  His eye finally opened and he released her wrist.  “I apologize, I was unaware of the time.”

“You’ve got a slight fever,” she said, finally checking his temperature.  She went to the drawer, drawing out a small med kit and taking out the tricorder.  “No virus,” she commented.  “You’ve been working twenty hours a day this week, you’ve probably run yourself ragged.”

Sarek got out of bed without complain, albeit slower than his usual pace.  “I feel fine.”

Amanda frowned.  “You’re sure?  Maybe you should take the day off, I can rearrange--”

“I feel fine.”

“Fine has a variable definitions,” she recited.

“I do not care to hear my words parroted to me,” Sarek snapped, and then looked immediately repentant.  “I apologize, perhaps I am in need of an extended meditation session.”  Sarek walked out of the bedroom and past the kitchen to the living area where Sarek’s incense and meditation materials where.

“Do you want me to stay?”  She still wasn’t entirely Sarek was being honest.

“No.”  Sarek knelt before the tho’san stone and prepared the incense while Amanda scrambled to fix her coffee before she left for the day.

“Okay, comm you if you need anything.  I’m going to stop in at a couple shops this morning.”

That made Sarek stop mid preparation.  “Not the antiquities dealer?”

Amanda frowned again.  “What is your issue against the antiquities dealer?”

“He is either a fraud or a seller of that which is not his to sell,” Sarek replied.  “His interest in you is dishonorable.”

Amanda rolled her eyes good naturedly.  “He just wants me for my mind.”  She paused, thinking of that cultural implication.  “But not like that, and you know it.”

“Nevertheless, if he profits from your linguistic knowledge, he should be compensating you.”

“I always manage to walk away with some lead, and I have to cultivate some friends in this industry” she said.  “You’d never see some of those types of linguistic artifacts in the Cultural Institute.”

“For which there is most assuredly a reason.”

Amanda picked up her work bag, covered herself in a voluminous purple and orange chiffon robe.  She stopped behind him, extending her fore and middle fingers to him.  “I’m not arguing with you about the ethics of antique sales.  Meditate.  Feel better.  Call me if you need anything.”

Sarek met her fingers with his own for a lingering kiss, which made up for his momentary crankiness, and bid her a good day.  She made a mental note to check in on him before lunch and opened the door to greet the already sweltering day in ShiKahr.

\--

Amanda sighed, completely enamoured.

“Your taste is exquisite,” Tuolk said, his voice hushed.  “If you wish, I could find more…” he let his voice trail, the suggestion tantalizing.

“Really?” Amanda asked, almost vibrating with the effort to contain her excitement.

The young man nodded, his fingers almost trailing against the edges of the ancient scroll spread across the examination table.  “This one is from the northern most continent, the sturdy fibers of the paper are cultivated from farms of utilk trees.”

Amanda held her breath, as if afraid to upset even the non existent dust that gathered along twelfth century papyrus, protected by the museum quality forcefield.  “It’s magnificent.  The characters are so…”

“Emotive?” Tuolk suggested.

Amanda gave a small laugh, completely out of place in the dark antique shop.  “Yes, emotive.  Pre-Surakian society would love the haiku or the Norse ballad of Terran ancient history.”

Tuolk merely inclined his head, with no comment about the unusual show of amusement or her Human references.  He gestured to the fearsome woman etched along the side of scroll, her hands dripping with the green blood of her enemies.  “Sekhet, one of the old Vulcan deities of war and passion, was worshiped by the Kolinahru until Surak’s teachings defeated her emotion and turned the masters of Gol to peace.”

“Sekhet?  She sounds fascinating.”

“Intrigued by the long-dead goddess?  Then I have several other pieces you might be interested in.”  

“Yes, please.”  It was why she returned to this antique shop at least once a week.  Within Tuolk she had found a friend, or at least one more Vulcan to add to her tiny circle of “willing to accept Amanda as Human” in ShiKahr.  That, and its startlingly robust collection of pre-Surakian artifacts.

“I wonder if I may trouble you for your professional opinion on a piece we received yesterday.”

Amanda inclined her head, curious as Tuolk led her past the counter into a side room without windows.  At a low table, Tuolk knelt, burnished orange robes neatly folding under his ankles.  Amanda copied him, taking care her conservative Vulcan attire didn’t tangle among her feet as it was wont to do.

“Do you know of Jarok?”

The name stirred something in her memory, but should couldn’t quite place it, so she shook her head.

“He was a philosopher and contemporary of Surak.  He was celebrated in his time, an all but forgotten today, which makes this find all the more unusual.”

Tuolk reached beneath the table and withdrew to reveal and small box, no bigger than a tricorder.  It was a fiery Vulcan gold, the color of Tuolk’s robes,  Across the sides and top were intricately inlaid words in precious Vulcan waterstone, brighter than jade and more pearlescent than opal.

“The craftsmanship is remarkable.  But the words aren’t any dialect of Golic I’ve ever seen,” Amanda remarked.  “May I?”

He pushed the box towards her, allowing her to quietly examine the outside.  “The participles, uvne’ta reknorel, that sounds Romulan, doesn’t it?”

“The followers of Tu-Jarok often spoke in strange tongues befitting stranger ways.”

She brushed her finger against the last few words _burn with our emotions_.  “Where did you get it?”

“My assistant knows a connoisseur of ancient history.  This acquaintance was in a hurry to liquidate some of his assets.  He has several more pieces, and I was hoping you would be able to lend your talents in assisting me with the appraisal process.”

It was an unusual situation, but it piqued her interest.  “May I?” she asked, withdrawing a small holo recorder.  “I could run this through a simulation, there might be some matching artifacts in the university database to start.”

“I rely on your discretion, you understand.”  Amanda nodded, more intrigued than wary, as she ought to be.  “Then I look forward to your results, Dr. Grayson.”  He handed her

Amanda returned Tuolk’s ta’al and stepped out into the street, reaching for her comm and punched in the familiar code for the direct line.  It hailed several times, but never answered.

Her heart stuttered.  She tried hailing again while jogging down the street in the direction of home.  She tried his public line and then his office, but no one at the consulate reported seeing him.

By the time she made it up the stairs, she was panting and her hair was plastered to her face with sweat.  The flat was thick with incense, it must have burned for hours.

“SAREK?!” she yelled, running around the house, desperately hoping he was just deep in meditation.  She comm’ed emergency services but the the comm dropped out of her hand when she reached the bedroom.

“Ashayam.”

Sarek was on the floor, halfway between the door and the bed.  He struggled to get up, but his arms collapsed underneath him.  Amanda couched down, worried as she assessed the heat of his skin and the glaze in his eyes.  He reached up to press her hand against his cheek, and struggled to manipulate her fingers to his psi points.

“Sarek, what’s wrong?”

“I burn for thee.”

He appeared delirious with fever, how Had he gotten so sick so quickly?  “We need to get to you a medical--”

“No, ashayam,” he pulled her close and buried his nose in her damp hair and licked the salt off her neck, making her shiver.  “No, it must be now, or leave.  You must leave, if not...” he gave a low sigh and his head fell back to the floor.

“You need-- oh my god.  Now?  Your time is now?  But- but we have another _year,_ we had time to make _plans_ and what about your family?”  She was babbling now, frantic and unprepared, trying to push Sarek to get up and get into the bed.

“No, now or flee from here,” Sarek insisted, the pads of his fingers skimming the sides of her face.  “Koon’ut talve’hr adun’a.”

“Right now?”

“I’pladau,” he panted.

Damnable ceremonial High Golic.  “Does that mean right now?”

Sarek growled and somehow got the strength to pull her across him.  “Please.”

“Is this your marriage proposal?”

His hands moved behind her ears and across her cheek bones.  “Better one later,” he gasped.  

"Then I agree."  Amanda crawled up helping him hold held his hands in place across her own psi points and held hers fingers to his.  She crossed the distance and gave him a tender Human kiss. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Sarek only murmured words in High Golic in return, his grip on her face strengthening.  She could make out the phonemes, the morphemes, the syntax markers until her mind burned with Sarek and all thoughts were replaced with him.

\--

Thirty six hours later, Sarek woke her with a glass of water and a dermal regenerator.  Amanda groaned, grateful for the drink and allowed Sarek administer first aid on her calf and elbows, which were injured at some point by something, she wasn’t sure.  When he was done, Sarek bent down, his lips pressed against the crown of her head.  “Ashayam adun’a ashu’kam Amanda,” he murmured, his voice warm and gentle.  He was oddly loose and more vocally affectionate than usual, as if tipsy from the hormones and the newly minted mental bond.  Amanda could tell the fever of pon farr was still present, but the flames were now contained within Sarek’s ordered mind.

“We will have to make a formal visit,” Sarek said suddenly.

“To your family?”

“Perhaps not the entire family,” Sarek hedged.

Amanda huffed.  His sister T’Mae had introduced herself immediately when Amanda followed Sarek to Vulcan.  She came for the odd dinner and established a cordial relationship by Vulcan standards.  In the three months she had been on Vulcan, she had only entered the residence of S’haile Skon once, and only as briefly as needed to have her biosignature obtained for the security system if she should ever be summoned before the S’haile and T’sai of the manor.

“Then who?”

“The formal ceremony only requires the the blessing of the head of my family.  T’Sai T’Pau is technically--”

“Hold up,” Amanda said, shooting up from her position Sprawled across the pillows, looking at Sarek, still kneeling beside the bed.  “T’Pau.”

“Yes, she is matriarch of my family and as such, we must-”

“But _T’Pau_.”

“- go to her for permission to be married.  It is purely ceremonial.”

She huffed.  “Especially at this point.”  She flopped back down on the pillow, ready for another nap while she could get one.

“There is one more matter we must take care of,” he added, a bit shyly.

“Yes,” she said.  “Food.”

“That is-- no, not food.”

“But I’m starving.”

“Amanda, please sit up,” he asked gently.

“Ugh, please, I need a milkshake and some savas,” she grumbled.  Sarek took her hand and sunk down to one knee in front of her.

“Oh.  OH!”  She waved her hands in front of her.  “No!  No you can’t!”

Sarek blinked owlishly.  “No?”

“Not _now_ , when my hair is crazy and I’m exhausted and starving and quite frankly I’m just so… so…”

“Beautiful?”  Amanda huffed.  “If this moment is not agreeable for a proper Terran style marriage proposal, I will wait for another time.”

“But not long.”

“No,” Sarek agreed, covering her hand with a soft kiss.  “Not long.”  She felt a thrum of contentment.

“Sarek?”

“Yes?”

“Is it always like this?”  Amanda brushed a few newly formed mental strands, feeling the gentle vibration across a wide expanse that she knew held Sarek.  “I can feel you, like dozens of thin live wires running from my consciousness to yours.”

“It is not how I perceive it,” Sarek admitted.  “But I have mental links to five generations of my family, approximately two hundred living bonds, including you.”

Amanda startled a little.  “Can they feel me?  Can I feel them?”

“Not yet, but in time.”  Sarek yawned, an unusually casual display.  Within minutes they were both fast asleep.

\--

A week later, Amanda finally was able to make good on her promise to help Tuolk.

“Dr. Grayson, I trust that you are well.”

Amanda reached into her satchel and pulled out a data rod.  “Yes, I am, thank you.  I brought the findings from that interesting artifact you showed me.”

“I am most grateful,” Tuolk said, bowing as he took the data rod.  “I anticipate you will be pleased that my contact is very interested in meeting you.”

“Oh?”

“He does a great deal of traveling and is here on one of his rare visits.  I mentioned your skill and speciality, and he insisted that I propose a meeting.”

Amanda was intrigued to get closer to the source of Tuolk’s relics.  “Yes, I would enjoy meeting him.”

“That is most agreeable, Dr. Grayson.  Come, come,” he said, gesturing that she follow him to the back room where the waterstone box was held.

“He’s here?  Right now?”

“Yes, most fortuitous that you agreed.”

She walked behind the counter to the back room and did a double take when she saw the tall bearded figure waiting on the other side of the room.

“Hello Mandy, or should I call you ko-mehk?  I understand congratulations are in order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUN!
> 
> Thank you gentle readers for tuning in again!


	11. The Family Tree

> Stin begat Sloton and Sloton begat Spenuk and Spenuk begat Storrt and Storrt begat...
> 
> \- the histories of the house S'chn T'gai

 

Amanda stood in the kitchen, filling the tea kettle slowly.  When it was full, she dumped it out and then filled it again.  Then she set it on the stove with the lowest setting and strained to hear at the door but the gentle whir of the air filtration system disguised any would-be conversation.  She parsed out a few extra cookies that she preferred and and hunted for an extra tea cup before she picked up the tray and walked into the living room.

“Tea is ready,” she finally announced, setting the tray on the low table.  Sybok was sitting on Amanda’s preferred couch, his knees almost to his ears, while Sarek was standing at the window as if he meant to climb out of it.  “So, what did you two talk about while I was gone?”

Sarek made no move to acknowledge her or the tea tray, and Sybok merely snorted.  Between coaxing him back to her flat and encouraging him to stay until Sarek arrived from the consulate, she had seen more emotional expression and nonverbal behavior on a Vulcan than she had in the entirety of her stay on the planet, Sarek’s pon farr included.  “My father is not in a communicative mood today,” Sybok noted drolly.

“I believe I have been attempting to communicate with you for two years.  Perhaps it is your turn to speak.”

“I have already said all that I cared to say two years ago.”  The silence was threatening to become oppressive and Sybok looked as though he’d prefer to leap off the couch and storm out of the apartment.

“Tea?” she offered.  Sybok took the cup but didn’t drink.  “So, you said you were staying with friends outside Gol.”

Sybok nodded.  “Some political acquaintances who are interested in my studies.  I have been working alongside archaeologists on Ponti VII.”

“Oh, that sounds interesting,” Amanda replied, giving Sarek a beseeching look when he didn’t acknowledge the morsel of information.  “What kind of work?”

“Currently I’m securing more funding for more extensive research into pre-reformation Vulcan.”

“I was just telling Sarek about some of the pieces last week in that little shop.  They are contemporary to the Tu-Jato movement, correct?”

“Tu-Jarok,” Sarek corrected, his voice turning thick.  “You are still pursuing that fantasy?”

“There are many of us, Father, who have experienced a heightened awareness and pushed the boundaries of what it means to be Vulcan to heights never before recorded.  If you would just open your mind--”

“It was you that has suppressed your familial bond,” Sarek pointed out.  “For that I am now glad, because your work is dangerous and the people you consort with are dangerous.  Ponti VII is one system away from the Romulan Empire, that alone is cause to report you to the authorities for an inquiry.”

Sybok made a move to stand, but Amanda shot a hand out quicker to stay him.  “No one,” she said pointedly, “will be instigating an inquiry over a little archeology.”

Sarek sniffed.

“Please, stay,” Amanda asked.  It was an open invitation, one that was meant to be ambiguous.  Sarek was pouring out anxiety and concern through their bond, making her edgy and protective all at once, and she wondered if Sybok could feel it as well so there might be a little more enlightened conversation.  Perhaps it was just as well, there was something distinctly unsettling about the man.  

Sybok frowned deeply.  “My work is for Vulcan, to peal away our unnatural ways and unearth the true nature of our people.  I would think, you of all people, Father, especially now, would understand the importance of returning to our natural selves.”

“I, of all people?” Sarek replied, a hint of distress in his tone.

“You married a Human.  You, the heir presumptive to the House of S’chn T’gai, married a member of one of the most illogical, emotional, psi-inferior species in the quadrant.”

Amanda held her breath, curious what answer he would give his son.

“I am the Ambassador to Earth.”  Amanda suppressed an eye roll.   _Vulcans_.  Amanda attempted a mental elbowing in Sarek’s direction.

Sybok barked a laugh.  “So it was only logical to marry a Human?”  Sarek pursed his lips and turned away to look out the window again.  “My condolences, Amanda, I am sure this a substandard Terran love match.”

“Sybok, stop goading your father,” she admonished.  “Whichever nerve you are trying to hit, it won’t work with me.”

He ignored her, and continued.  “I cannot imagine the S’haile giving you his blessing.  What a shock it must have been for old Skon.”  When no one responded, Sybok tsked.  “So, you haven’t gone to get the S’haile’s blessing on your unnatural union.”  This time, Amanda couldn’t hide her flinch.  “Not my words, of course, but you cannot deny the reception will be tepid at best.”

“We are meeting with your grandfather this evening,” Sarek informed him, all but growling.

Sybok flashed a toothy smile which looked ill fit in his classically Vulcan features.  “A pity I cannot join you.  I must meet with my investors tonight.”  Sybok stood to leave, and Amanda could not help but feel a dark cloud had announced its imminent departure.

Amanda stood as well, watching Sybok furtively glance at his father.  “Sybok, you’re always welcome here.”

Sybok met her gaze, looking a little defeated.  “It is just as well that I am not, for now,” he said cryptically.  “Be well, Mandy.”

\--

“Sssknnn.”

“Again, less nasal on the final consonant.”

“Sssknn.”

“Now roll your tongue over the middle fricative, adding plosives.”

Amanda furrowed her eyebrows, disbelieving.  “You’re kidding.  You can do that?”

“S’chn,” Sarek said again.  “Truly, it will not matter, especially in the next ten minutes.”

“Sarek, I have to be able to say your name.  I’m a linguist and your wife, it’s more than just a point of pride at this stage.  When I was in school we had a student, Weelooooeoooeoooiiaiea, and you just couldn’t shorten it or it would dishonor their ancestors, but I was the only one in preschool who knew how to say it correctly.”

“This is not the same.  You lack the appropriate oral structure and strength to produce this particular sound.  Your approximation is passable.”

She huffed, watching the city shrink in the distance and give way to stark cliffs and seas of bright red sand.  From an academic standpoint, the antiquated subculture of Sarek’s family existing in modern Vulcan society was fascinating.  However, in practice was was entering a strange bubble devoid of the predictable logic that Amanda relied upon to navigate Vulcan culture as an alien to the world.  She had been forewarned, there was no love lost between Sarek and his parents, and little generosity to be extended to her.  Sarek spoke of a well structured childhood of education and culture while he boarded in ShiKahr at the primary school, and a pet sehlat to keep him company on his visits home, but not much about his parents.

When Sarek had described his childhood home, a large house that sprawled out and off the side of a cliff overlooking the Yukik Gorge, she had pictured something much more austere.  Instead, a palace of marble made to look as one solid piece, stood against the red desert as a blue-green gem.  Generations ago the estate supported several large farms, artisans and a small army of servants.  Now the family had been forced to adopt some modern conveniences to maintain the upkeep of the estate, replicators for one, but there was something about the house that made it seem hollow and on the cusp of being derelict.

To her surprise, two figures were already waiting outside.  Sarek assisted her out of the car, never more than half a step away.  “My Brother,” the young woman on the steps intoned formally, raising her hand in ta’al, “and T’Sai Amanda.  Live long and prosper.”

“T’sai T’Mae, peace and long life,” Amanda replied, slipping on the hood of her long cape, the only thing shielding her face from the unforgiving Vulcan sun.  T’Mae left her head exposed, her long hair roped and piled up in the aristocratic Vulcan fashion and long gold and green robes drug along the dusty front steps of the manor, fluttering behind her despite the absence of a breeze.  She looked like a Vulcan princess from a fairytale on the steps of a nearly abandoned castle.

She glanced at his companion, an older Vulcan with heavy eyebrows.  He made no effort to introduce himself, so Amanda assumed that the stranger deemed it illogical to do so.  Perhaps he was the one of the household staff.

“Sa-mehk is waiting for you inside,” she added unnecessarily, “but T’Sai T’Pau…”

T’Mae looked distressed, but the stranger spoke up, his tone as wapish as a Vulcan could possibly be.  “The T’Sai wishes to see you first.”

Amanda glanced at Sarek, confused and hoping for an explanation.  “My father is the Shaile, but T’Pau is the matriarch.  It would have been traditional to obtain her blessing prior to our bonding.”

She glanced at T’Mae and blushed a little.  “We didn’t exactly have time.  Do we ask for the blessing now?”

Sarek hesitated.  “If you wish, but it is not required of you.  I was unaware T’Pau would be here today.”

“None of this is required,” the surly Vulcan said.

“T’Sai Amanda honors us with her acknowledgment and application of our traditions, Stutok,” T’Mae said placatingly.  “However uneducated she may be.”

It was a sincere Vulcan compliment if Amanda ever heard one, and it warmed her heart in an odd way to hear that from Sarek’s sister.  Feeling a bit better that there was at least one more Vulcan on their side, she nodded and allowed Sarek to usher her into his childhood home.

The foyer was ornate, deep reds and golds with dark stone arches spiraling twelve meters overhead.  She stepped carefully, painfully aware of how loud her shoes were against the floors, while Sarek, T’Mae and the surly Stutok were nearly silent.  They followed past a large sweeping abstract statues and wall hangings with orange and purple scrolls announcing the “great house of S’chn T’gai of ShiKahr.”

They turned sharply into a room as ornate as the foyer, this one with a large dais and low chairs.  Apparently Sarek grew up with a throne room for a living room.

Perched in two of the chairs were Sarek’s parents, Skon and T’Rama.  Even from this distance she could see Sarek favored Skon strongly, the same chiseled cheeks and strong chin that hadn’t been passed on to Sybok.  They were both dressed in ornate robes of the same orange and purple of the drapes and scrolls, vibrant and dripping with gemstones around sleeves and necks.  T’Rama’s ornate hair was coiled in the same fashion of T’Mae, but twisted around a silver diadem of waterstone and lime green Vulcan pearls.

Amanda felt underdressed, to say the least, and T’Pau was nowhere to be seen.

They stood in a line before the dais, all six of them silent as the moments stretched into more moments.  She held her breath, waiting for someone to say something.  She glanced at Sarek, then T’Mae, both waiting expectantly.

“Sa-mekh, ko-mekh,” T’Mae started, but Skon raised his hand to silence her.

“I acknowledge you, daughter, and your honorable intended, Stutok, whom I look forward to welcoming into our family in the near future.”  Skon said, leaving the sentence hanging.

Amanda felt a ripple across her bond, something like a mental sigh of annoyance from Sarek.  “Sa-mekh, I greet you in respect and gratitude for your hospitality,” he started, using the same tone he used during meetings with hostile foreign diplomats.

“Do you?” Skon replied drolly.  “What hospitality have you taken from my house these twenty years?  What water have your drank from our cups, what rest have you had in the walls of your father’s house?  There has been no hospitality extended, and you have no cause to be grateful.  One might think my high-minded son was trying to ignore his family.”  T’Rama nodded enthusiastically.

“At least someone in the family has a little sense,” a voice said behind Amanda.

T’Rama and Skon stood, and a petite Vulcan figure strode into the room.  Amanda copied the bow Sarek made, and looked up to find T’Pau (the T’Pau!) standing directly in front of her.

When Amanda was a little girl she had a book of great leaders of the Federation planets.  Alexander the Great.  Mu’hia of the Southernmost Continents.  Her favorite chapter was the one about T’Pau and the katra of Surak and the creation of the new Vulcan government.  She didn’t look anything like the young woman in her book.  T’Pau barely came up to Amanda’s nose, easily the smallest Vulcan she had ever seen.  Her hair was cut sharply, in the modern Vulcan manner, and her layers and layer of raiment were simple brown and beige.  Her face was worn and she had webs of soft lines around her face, which belied the sharpness of her eyes.

“T’Rama, sit down.  Your bowing will make me dizzy,” she said, halting Sarek’s mother’s frenetic bobbing.

“Sarek, my gazh, it has been too long.  You should have arranged to see me as sooner to meet…” T’Pau glanced at Amanda, now looking at her critically.

“T’Sai T’Pau, this is Dr. Amanda Grayson, my wife.”

Amanda remembered with a jolt to extend a ta’al.  “Live long and prosper.”

“Dr. Grayson,” T’Pau said slowly, dragging out vowels.  “I have met many Humans, few would take on a Vulcan as a lifemate.”

“She does grant me that great honor.”

T’Pau continued to stare at Amanda, then through her.  After a moment, she nodded, as if something had finally being weighed and found acceptable.  “As I said, you have waited too long to see me.  You require my blessing.”

Amanda and Sarek began to object, but T’Pau held a staying hand.

“Not that you would be aware, having never been married in the Vulcan way before, but a marriage bond is not brought out in its fullness without the help of your family.  Without it, your bond is brittle and prone to psionic injury.”  T’Pau shot a glance beyond Amanda’s shoulder.  “There is some logic to the old ways, it is not all ceremonial pomp and xenophobia.”

Skon made a small sound between a cough and a choke.  T’Pau ignored it and continued.

“I am pid-kom, the matriarch of this family and thus have scores of mental bonds across six generations of this family.  The strength of this family lies in its bonds, and the strength of its bonds lies within each of us, all intersecting within its pid-kom.  No bond suppressed goes beyond my notice, nor any bond formed neglected.  It is my duty to extend the blessing to all bonded, to promote the wellbeing of each member.”

T’Pau beckoned Sarek and Amanda closer, holding out her hands toward their psi points.  “Take my blessing, and may it enrich your bond and keep you in peace all your days.”

“I insist you do not,” Skon finally shouted, prompting T’Pau to drop her hands from the couple’s faces.  “As you said, a Human-- we cannot know what it would do to us, to her, or to you.”

“I would not be as worried about her Human mind as I worry about your grandson.” T’Pau said.  “Does he get no consideration, no protection from his mother’s bond and the bonds of his family?”

“Sybok has already renounced-”

“I have no care for the careless and destructive,” T’Pau snapped.  She put a firm palm over Amanda’s stomach.  “I speak of this son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. ;-)
> 
> Dear gentle readers, thanks again for all of the love on this and the other stories. The end is in sight on this story, which grew a bit bigger than I thought it would. My favorite bit that really inspired this story is in the next chapter, I've had it written for months, just took a bit longer to get there. I saw the new movie today (I loved it!) and it got me jazzed to write more for this series (there's a matter of a ring, when last we left Spock/Jim/Senik) and Logical Match and who knows? Regardless, not dead (just busy!) and determined to deliver a happily ever after for all.


	12. Expecting the Worst

> Reporter: What is it like to be the wife of an ambassador?
> 
> Dr. Grayson: Much like being husband of the linguist. There’s a lot of talking.
> 
> \-- Transcript of an interview for  _ Transquadrant Today _

The first trimester was the worst for all Vulcan women. Something to do with a weaker placenta and poor circulation. For Amanda, it was pure torture.

It was hard to explain to anyone not experiencing it first hand. She tried to explain it to her brother Jacob, the doctor, or her mother, who had difficult pregnancies herself, and to Sarek, who held her hand during every appointment and rough patch, but no one could really understand how terrifying and thrilled she was.

First came the physical symptoms, which manifested a week after T’Pau dropped her bombshell. Meat, something she enjoyed eating, although hard to come by in an exclusively vegetarian society, was now repulsive. Her tiny part-Vulcan passenger caused her to crave all sorts of copper rich foods, and her new favorite breakfast was asparagus and kale smoothies with bitter jumpo sauce and graham crackers. The Vulcan heat was making her nauseous. Sarek came armed with every stalk of asparagus he could find and turned his office into her own personal environmentally controlled bubble that hovered somewhere between a brisk Seattle evening and the Terran North Pole.

Additionally, there was the medical professionals themselves. They were the best in obstetrics that could be found. Each one had an opinion, each one had a prescription. She was doing the right thing. She was doing the wrong thing. She was doing the right thing, but it was wrong for the baby. The prescriptions and opinions still were were not as bad as the news they all felt was their Vulcan duty to say aloud:

_ No Vulcan-Human hybrid has ever survived past the third trimester. _

So she swallowed every pill and tried everything the medical professionals suggestions without complaint.

But sometimes, even for fleeting moments, there were small miracles that reminded her why it was worth it. She was in awe of the tiny little bundle of cells forming a person within her, from the first glimpse on the holographic screen.  It was remarkable how, even at two months, her stomach began to swell and she fell the gentle flutterings of her son.  He was almost fifty percent bigger than a human fetus at this point and it wouldn’t be long before she really started to show. 

Vulcan pregnancies lasted ten months, and even if that time was cut a few weeks early, it was cause for alarm.  Physically, the baby could be born at 38 weeks, but was unlikely to develop the proper psionic bonds with his parents unless developing in the protection of the womb.  Infants were known to suffer a psionic failure to thrive, and this little one was already at risk for the condition.  At least, that was everyone’s best guess for Amanda’s very rare pregnancy.

There were also cultural differences that Amanda had never taken into consideration.  Now, more than ever, she felt ignorant of her husband’s Vulcan culture and surprised by the wide differences of their species’ practices.

“What are we going to do about child care?” she asked one evening, after they retired to Amanda’s office-turned-igloo.  Sarek bundled up in heavy robes and a scarf around his head, covering his ears from the chill, while Amanda sprawled out on the divan in her night clothes.

Sarek paused, looking up from his reading, completely befuddled.  “Do you doubt that I will have paternal feelings for our child?”

“Well, yes, of course we will  _ care _ for him, but when we go back to work, who will watch him?”

“Why does a child need to be watched?”

Amanda remembered that Sarek wasn’t present during the majority of Sybok’s rearing.  “So he doesn’t get hurt?  To form normal family attachments? So his learning can be enriched?  Babies need constant care.”

“Vulcan babies do not.  All of their needs are met easily in ShiKahr’s government run nursery.  Upon reaching his second year, he will return to our home to begin school.”

“Government nursery?  You just… drop off your kids at a facility until they are toddlers?”  Amanda’s heart panged.  Come to think of it, she had never seen a Vulcan baby at the markets or in their friend’s homes.  Were there whole shelves of babies just waiting to be taken off the shelf when the time was right?

Sarek must have read some distress on Amanda face.  “The safest, most efficient way to raise a Vulcan child is through the carefully administered nursery program,” Sarek assured her, his voice soft and almost placating. “By the time the younglings have matriculated, their communication and motor skills are adequate for formal schooling and they can be productive members of the family.”

_ A baby rearing factory, _ Amanda thought darkly.  “Human babies are raised at home,” Amanda pointed out.  “That’s when and where the emotional bonding occurs, just as important as the psi bonds.”  There was a small ripple of  _ unease _ as Amand said “emotional bonding” but she knew her husband too well to be surprised that he wouldn’t be a little uncomfortable by the idea.  “They don’t even go to real school until years later.” 

“Young Vulcans benefit from highly intensive care and instruction during the formative years.  The carers employed within the nursery are highly skilled in child development and the facilities are extremely safe.  The infant mortality rate is a fraction of that on Earth.”

She worried her lip between her teeth for a moment, considering.

“If we are staying on Vulcan to raise him, I want to raise our baby at home.”  Sarek was silent.   “I’ll stay home, and then in two years, we’ll consider schools.”

“I do not know anything about raising an infant,” he pointed out warily.

She smiled, knowing a capitulation when she heard one.  “That’s okay.  I hear it’s mostly instinctual. And there’s books.”

\--

Since Sarek had agreed to Amanda’s suggested Terran-style child rearing at home, he had taken it upon himself to read most of the child rearing books published in the last forty years, specifically Terran and Vulcan ones, but occasionally branched out to other species as well.  The last two months, he grew increasingly alarmed by some Human parenting practices.  He was still upset about the baby mobiles.

“For the first several months, Human babies can’t move much, but they need visual stimulation.  They enjoy looking at slowly moving shapes and colors,” Amanda had said, pointing out a paragraph in  _ Best Practices in Interstellar Parenting. _

“Slow moving shapes,” Sarek repeated.  “They are not even expected to know what the shapes are.  At five months, Vulcan infants are learning basic one to one correlation as a foundation of their mathematical skill development.”

“What if that is what he needs?” Amanda asked, worried about this particular point for the five hundredth time.  “What if he isn’t like the other Vulcan children and he needs a Human approach?  What if he’s more like me and less like you?”

Sarek paused and took Amanda’s hand in his, tracing gentle kisses across her palm.

“It is very unlikely, given my dominant genetics,” Sarek pointed out gently.  “I suspect his cognitive development will follow a typical Vulcan’s.”

“You can’t know that.  No one knows that.”

“No, I do not,” he finally conceded.  “But we do know that we will provide whatever he needs.”

She closed her hand over Sarek’s larger one, squeezing it gently.  “Yes.  Yes, okay.”

\--

“What about this one?” Amanda asked, holding up the lavender and taupe printed cloth against herself.  “The Elepsi sent it, the colors mean familial love and protection.”

“Very nice,” Aisha cooed on the screen in the office-turned-igloo-turned-hospital-room, light years away on Earth.  “I’ve got an afghan from your grandmother with that same color of purple, I’ll send it with the rest of your baby things.”

“The doctors said we can’t have any fabric around the incubator, but they said the walls would be okay,” Amanda explained.  “I was thinking we could do some nice curtains, so the sun won’t get in his eyes.”  Amanda sighed.  “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“Oh, Mandy, trust your instincts, and what will some curtains hurt?” her mother said.  “Who knows what he’ll need once he’s transferred to the incubator.”

Amanda felt another pang at that, and rubbed her swollen belly.  Her baby needed three more months of womb-time, but her body was about to give out soon.  She couldn’t produce the copper fast enough, not while still have a functional circulatory system.  In three days they would transfer her baby to an incubator, located in the soon to be nursery, next to her hospital bed, to finish his development.  It was risky, no Vulcan child had survived the procedure because of the developing psionic bonds created in utero, but Human babies frequently were born this way.

She coughed her glass of water, causing pain to shoot through her rib cage.  “Ow.”

“Amanda?” Sarek called from the doorway, ever vigilant.

“I’m fine,” she croaked.  “Just down the wrong pipe.”

Sarek immediately started scanning her with an efficiency he obtained over the last four weeks of total bedrest, when complications appeared in earnest.

“No aspiration,” he declared.  “Greetings, Aisha.”

“Hello, Sarek.  I was just telling Mandy I was packing up her baby things.”

“That is much appreciated.” Sarek said, now scanning her abdomen.

“Sarek, I’m fine,” Amanda repeated.

“Your temperature is elevated.”

“If it was an infection, the doctors would know before you.”

“Mandy, dear, I think I’ll sign off now.”

She peered around Sarek’s robes, to see her mother, now looking affectionately bemused by Sarek’s antics.  “Okay, Mama, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Try to get some rest dear,” and then blinked off.

“Is this necessary?  For once, I’d like to talk to you without having to look over a tricorder.”

Sarek finally paused in his scanning and put the tricorder down.  “Is there something you would like to discuss?”

Amanda patted the side of her bed for Sarek to settle next to her.  “What do you think of this print for the nursery?”

Sarek studied the fabric briefly.  “It is aesthetically pleasing.”

“Oh, good,” she said, content.  “Ow.  Don’t get upset, it’s just a kick.”

“He is quite active in the evening,” Sarek observed.

“And through the night.”  Amanda rubbed her stomach, trying to sooth the little one. “Also, what do you think about Ahmet?”

“Who is Ahmet?”

“The baby. I like Ahmet.  It’s an old Turkish name, where my mother’s family comes from.”

Sarek considered the name carefully, and nodded. “It is a pleasant sounding name to Terrans.”

Amanda slouched into Sarek’s shoulder, humming approval when he raised his hand to make slow, firm circles across the muscles of her lower back. “What would you pick?” she mumbled into his chest.

“I approve of Sucks.”

A burst of laughter escaped before she could stop it.  Even that was painful. “What?”

Sarek’s eyebrows dipped in his version of a frown. “Sucks. He was my great grandfather on my mother’s side. He was an esteemed physician.”

Amanda shook her head adamantly. “We are not naming our child  _ Sucks _ . It’s old Terran slang for terrible.”

Sarek’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why do we care about outdated Terran slang?”

“I’m not going to introduce my child to my family with that kind of name!”

“Ahmet sounds distinctly like an island on Vulcan that was destroyed by a thermonuclear catastrophe, but I do not object because I know it is a name and the coincidence not a reflection upon the child’s character.”

“Sucks is what a baby does with its bottle!”

“It has been a family name for generations, and he would be the first in two hundred years to carry it. I do not believe your criteria is strong enough to disqualify a single name just because you have some particular vendetta-”

“-- vendetta!” Amanda objected, her voice raising. “I just don’t want to saddle a poor, defenseless child with a name that--”

“He will not be defenseless, he will be well educated and will choose circles of individuals that will not judge him based on the defunct slang of one planet.”

“Why are we yelling?” Amanda shouted, and then was aware she was the only one yelling and while Sarek had never once raised his voice, he was fidgeting with the arm of his robes, something she had never seen him do.  She reached out tentatively through their bond, only to find Sarek was wound tight and tense.

“Hey,” she said, much softer.  “It’s okay.” Sarek just blinked at her.  “No, really, I’m okay.”

“You are not okay.  You are gravely ill.”

“But I have a small platoon of enthusiastic geneticists and obstetricians who are over the moon to be helping us through this.  And I have you.”

Sarek nodded, his eyes still tense.  “You have me, for all the benefit I can possibly provide in this situation.”

Ah.  “Rub my back?”

She sat up, leaning her side against his chest and strong hands started to knead her shoulders.  She groaned, content.

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

“I could also rub your feet.”

“Well, yes, that too.  I meant suggestions for baby names.”

“Spock.”

“Hmmmmm,” she sighed when he finally worked out another knot.

“I came across the name many years ago,” Sarek admitted, his hand now dropping to fiddle with her bioreaders. Amanda felt like growling. “He was a philosopher and leader, one of the first leaders of Surakian society. He was a strong supporter of Kol-ut-Shan, and the ancient city-state of Insha’ar became a beacon of learning under his Leadership.”

Amanda fingered the  [ medallion on Sarek’s shoulder ](http://en.memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/IDIC) , the triangular pin glittering in the evening light.

“Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.  Spock,” she said, trying it out. “Spohkk…. you know, everyone on Earth is going to get that vowel wrong.”

“How would it be pronounced on Earth?”

Amanda enunciated with her best Terran Standard. "Spaaahk."

"That is-"

"The old Golic word for pancakes, I know."

Sarek waited a beat.  "I still approve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Gentle readers,
> 
> You finally read the part that started this whole story. I loved the idea of Amanda and Sarek arguing about Spock's name. It only took like 20,000 words to get there, but hey! Totally worth it! Part of me (a small, evil part) wanted Sarek to also name him in honor of that ancient Terran baby raising philosopher, Dr. Spock.
> 
> I see just one more chapter and then the tiny epilogue. Thank you, readers.


	13. Give To Light

> **“… Amanda and I also had a dream. One that justified even the risk of our precious son's life and sanity. What point is there in any life surviving unless it has meaning? The meaning of Spock's existence is the very meaning of our marriage: What our two lifeforms combine, and offer something of value to other lifeforms… Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations."**
> 
> \-- Sarek, interview with G. Roddenberry

The transfer of Baby Grayson-S’chn T’gai took only about twenty minutes with local anesthetic.  Within half an hour Amanda was all but plastered against the side of the incubation tank, nose pressed against the glass, staring at the tiny little creature that had been dancing on her bladder minutes ago.

“He’s so tiny,” she said, in awe of his little wriggling movements.  Sarek stood behind her, hands resting on her shoulders and he watched from over her head at their son, suspended in orange water, surrounded by dimly glowing lights.

“Well within normal limits for gestation of a Vulcan,” the doctor remarked.

“Is he moving enough?” she asked.  From experience, this child enjoyed cartwheels in utero.  “I mean, neurologically, is it all still normal?”

“Yes, Dr. Grayson,” the obstetrician replied.  “All neurological and psionic measurements continue to be well within normal limits.”

_ Cautiously optimistic _ wasn’t really in any of her Vulcan doctor’s vocabularies, so Amanda had to devise her own mental comfort during the weeks ahead.

“Fifty one days,” Sarek said softly.

“It seems like an eternity from now.”

“It will seem exactly like fifty one days to me.”

Amanda wasn’t sure who was going to have a tougher time waiting.

\--

The last two months, it was Sarek who seemed the most uncomfortable.  He spent as much time as possible near the incubator at the suggestion of the doctors, who had hypothesized that Sarek might be able to support their son’s developing psionic bonds by physical proximity.  So as Amanda quickly rebounded from her pregnancy complications, Sarek took over the study and began working exclusively from home.  Early on, there were indications that the hours and hours of physical proximity to the incubator was possibly working and while they were both delighted, Amanda was surprised by the side effects.

Sarek became quite emotional.  Two weeks post-transfer he requested Spock be moved to their bedroom so Sarek could sleep near their son.  He set up a chair and small desk on in the room, on the other side of the incubator so he could work next to him.  Sarek usually took meals in the bedroom as well.  Amanda’s mother called it “nesting” and she was hard pressed to find it less than endearing, unless Sarek was watching depressing fictional Terran holovids about parenting and family tragedy.

“This is appalling,” Sarek said, pointing to the screen.  “How could they not know she is their daughter?”

Amanda peered over Sarek’s shoulder from her perch on the edge of their bed, where the baby’s incubator and Sarek’s holovid screen kept a constant soft glow during the night.

“She was kidnapped as an infant, so her Human parents wouldn’t know her decades later.”

Sarek muttered in disapproval.  “Once the bond manifests within your mind when our son is born, you will always know our him, no matter how much times will pass.”

“Yes, dear.  If ever he gets kidnapped, I will have that as comfort.”

Several minutes later, Sarek spoke again.  “I would like to install some peripheral sensors.”

“More monitors?”

“Motion sensors for the windows in the nursery.  Perhaps all windows.”

“We already have visual and sound monitors in the nursery and the top of the line security system,” she pointed out.  “I don’t want to give up all semblance of privacy.”

Sarek was silent.

“It’s not real,” Amanda reminded him gently.  “It’s only a holovid.”

Sarek remained silent, but tense, his mind humming with worry.

By the next week, the windows and roof were equipped with motion sensors and they were easily the most secure apartment in ShiKahr.

\--

The last time Amanda would ever hear from Sybok, she was in a market in the Depra District looking for Vulcan teething rings.  Amanda had been warned they would be needed far sooner than Human babies, so she found herself in a small boutique that would carve wenekt wood into soft soothing rings, perfect for Vulcan babies.  She felt very grateful that her mother had sent and kept so many of her own baby things, as there was no such thing as a baby store on Vulcan, not with the state mandated Vulcan nurseries.  She spoke to the proprietor at length about the sizes of her requested rings and walked out the door when she received a private comm marked urgent.

**Take shelter immediately**. 

Amanda couldn’t breathe, let alone think.  She looked around the crowded street, unsure what the message meant or how to alert the people around her.

“Mazhyon!  Get out of the street, mazhyon oncoming!” she yelled, grateful for the ever-trusting Vulcan logic and calm action.  Who would yell firestorm in the middle of the crowded street unless they all needed to take shelter immediately?  As all the bystanders cleared the streets, Amanda dashed back into the boutique and ducked under a table, gesturing to everyone to take cover with her.

For several long moments, there was nothing and the two other Vulcans gave her puzzled looks.  She wondered what was going to happen, as were the patrons underneath the table, waiting cautiously.

She heard it, a several low booming sounds from a distance, before the power failed and the air pressure was sucked from the room momentarily from some sort of shockwave.  The items in the shop rattled and sand kicked up outside, blowing heavily before subsiding, leaving anything that wasn’t bolted down tossed briefly in the wake of whatever had happened.  In a few moments, it was over.

“What was that?” Amanda asked.

No one answered.  They waited several more moments in the dark before they heard the emergency alerts sound, requesting all to stay where they were and to use emergency channels for immediate care if needed.  The power was still down, as were all communication systems.

Amanda felt her stomach drop as the seconds ticked by.  She needed to be home.

\--

By the time Amanda was able to plead, direct, skirt, and sneak out of the market and back into the residential district, it had been almost an hour and the communications were still down in ShiKahr.  She raced in the Vulcan sun, ill with more than just near-heat stroke.

“Sarek?” she yelled from the door, terrified by the time she reached the door.

“We are well,” Sarek said from the door of their bedroom.  “He is perfectly well.  The battery worked flawlessly, and the mayor has assured me that power will be restored in the next ten minutes.”

Amanda stripped off her outwear, sweat dripping down her neck.  She collapsed on the bed, staring at their tiny son, still glowing softly in the light from the auxiliary power source they never ever thought they would need.  Sarek stood at the door, his face unreadable, and then sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from Amanda.  She could tell he was barely holding onto very powerful sorrow.

“The mayor?” Amanda belatedly, her thoughts to finally catch up to her.

“The mayor and the constable where here.”

“Why--” Amanda stopped, already knowing part of the answer.

_ Sybok, what have you done? _

“There was an attack on Mount Seleya, the Katric Ark was compromised and several vre’katra are missing.”

Amanda gasped.  The greatest treasure of Vulcan, the souls of Vulcan’s great leaders and philosophers were housed within the Katric Ark.  If one could attack the heart of Vulcan, the very soul of its people, it was in Mount Seleya.

“Sybok has been identified as working with the radical Sep’Tu-Jarok and as leader of the attack on Mount Seleya.  Seventeen are reported wounded, no deaths.  However, the damage he has done is devastating.”

“Surely he wouldn’t do anything so permanently destructive, and he could be reasoned with to return the vre'katra,” Amanda wondered, sickened by the violence Sybok committed against the collective Vulcan culture and a millenia of knowledge.  “Perhaps you could-”

“He is dead to me,” Sarek growled.

Amanda startled at the malice in his voice.  “Sarek, you don’t mean it.”

“He could have killed someone,” Sarek said, his voice never rising but the ire and loathing were apparent.  “He could have killed our son.  He committed purposeful violent crime against the defenseless, against our people, against our way of life and that violence threatened our family.  I cannot ignore his actions any longer and I shall break my paternal bond to him as soon as I am able.  It is the only way I can protect our family.”

Amanda was at a loss and overwhelmed by sorrow, and not just her own.  When the power was restored, she couldn’t be bothered to turn the lights back on.  She just laid on the bed, holding Sarek’s hands, crushed by the emotional weight of Sarek’s despair and the collective emotion of five generations of Sarek’s family.

Weeks later she would read Sybok’s published treatise of the emotional liberation of the Vulcan people, of Sybok’s interpretation of the philospher Jarok’s vision and his version of the Attack of Mount Seleya.  Sybok never attempted to contact her again.

She wondered if he could feel what he had done as she could feel it.  She wondered if Sybok could experience the aftermath as she had, if it could have made a difference to him.

\--

Two days after the Attack on Mount Seleya, Sarek’s was remotely assisting in assessing district-wide damage to ShiKahr.

“It is an old vestige of the roles of S’haile,” Sarek admitted.  “The Lord considered responsible for the welfare of the citizens of his domain.”

“Glad to see the title is a little more than just ornamental, although I wonder why you are taking up those duties.”

“The most significant destruction included the outskirts and the second and fourth districts,” Sarek explained.

Ah.  “How is your family?”

“The family is well, but the property has sustained significant damage.  They will be displaced for some time.  T'Pau has moved to the Kel province, and I suspect my immediate family will follow her there.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a some token sadness for his parents, however distasteful they were.  “Is there anything we can do?”

“There is one item they requested be entrusted within our care.”

“Oh?”

“As a boy, I had a sehlat.”

Amanda’s eyebrows shot up.  “As a pet?”

“They are quite tame, as long as one remembers to feed them on time.  His name is I-Chaya.  He was a satisfactory companion during my boyhood.”

“And you want to bring him here?” Amanda guessed.  Sarek nodded, and Amanda gestured to their apartment.  “We’re having a difficult time fitting all of Spock’s baby things in here, I don’t think we’ll have enough room for a sehlat.”

“We could move,” Sarek suggested.  “I still have the land I inherited upon my majority.  It is not developed, but there would be plenty of room to build a comfortably sized dwelling.”

Amanda rubbed her face, too tired to think about anything else.  “Let’s talk about sehlats and building houses tomorrow.”

Sarek nodded, scooting to the edge of the bed to make room for Amanda.  As she toed off her shoes and slipped off her robe, she caught Sarek staring at Spock’s incubator with a curious expression.

“What is it, my love?”

“I can feel him,” Sarek said.  “I can feel Spock thinking.”

She jumped onto the mattress, wanting to get closer to the incubator on the other side of Sarek, as if the proximity would help her feel as her husband did.  “What is he thinking?”

Sarek held out his fingers, and Amanda accepted the meld.  She immediately smiled.

“He’s content.  He likes the feeling of moving his arms.”

“Yes.”

“He can hear us,” she said, excitement bubbling up as she recognized the softest of thoughts, simple and light and wholly that of her tiny son.  Tears spilled out over her lashes.  The meld faded away as Sarek brushed them off her cheeks.

“He loves you,” Sarek said.

Amanda laughed, more tears falling.  “How could you possible know that?”

“Because I know that emotion as well as I know myself.”

\--

S’chn T’gai Spock Grayson was born on the 2230.06 at 1400.  He weighed 3.7 kilograms, 60 centimeters long, and had an aperception quotient in the 89th percentile.

The team of geneticists and obstetricians pronounced it a medical success in every measurable term.  They congratulated themselves on a job well done and discussed who would be listed first on the published medical papers, of which there would be dozens.

Amanda only had one pronouncement when he was finally placed within her arms.

“Oh,” she said, even more surprised when the tiny bundle opened his eyes and looked up at her, dark eyes captivating her attention like none other.  “Oh.”

The team of doctors filed out of the room to join the Sarek and Amanda’s families, who were waiting impatiently in the living area, awaiting the invitation to meet the newest member of their family.

“Shall we let them in?” Sarek asked, his eyes on the tiny bundle that was their son.

“Not yet.  I want a few moments to keep him to ourselves, now that he’s out in the world.”  She was entranced how his intelligent eyes tracked hers, and traced the edges of his tiny pointed ears.  Weeks of staring at his fuzzy form through a cloudy incubator could not compare to hold him in her arms. “Could you even imagine how perfect he would be?”

“My imagination is not my strongest attribute,” Sarek said, his voice tight as he finally knelt near the edge of the bed, his arms settling around her and their child.

“I am so happy,” she mused, entranced with his eyes, so dark but with an elusive bit of gold-brown that was her own.  “I cannot believe how happy I am.”

Sarek ducked his head to her temple, brushing lips against her ear.  “Amanda Nadia Grayson, would you consent to bond in marriage with me?”

Amanda looked up, gobsmacked.  Her hand was in his and he was properly kneeling.  He was really proposing.  A real, proper Terran-style proposal.

“Although my imagination is sorely lacking, I cannot believe any moment of my life could possibly compare to the moments I have had with you, and I wish to live the duration of ours together, if you will allow it.”

Amanda's face hurt from smiling.  “You realize I doubt I will be any less trouble as I grow older.”

“It is but one of the many qualities I admire in you,” he replied.  “I find myself craving a future where you will be by my side for all manner of trouble of your devising.”

Amanda laughed, enthralled by the gentle ripple of sympathetic happiness from tiny Spock. “I will.  You know I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear gentle readers,  
> Warm fuzzies and baby blankets for everyone!  
> Thank you for reading, just a tiny epilogue to follow. Much love to you, walkandtalk


	14. Epilogue: Assessment of Primary Sources

> **Rate your agreement on a scale of 1 to 10 (0 being Disagree Completely and 10 being Agree Completely)**
> 
> **Spock enjoys long walks on the beach**
> 
> **Spock enjoys conversing**
> 
> **Spock is interested in politics**
> 
> **\- Optimal Romantic Pairing Behavior Rating Scale- Parental Long Form, S'chn T'gai Senik**

 

“Sarek, what do you think?” Amanda asked, PADD balanced on her knee between a stack of requests from the Universal Translator Institute and a plate of k’nettu.  “Does Spock prefer reading or cultural pursuits as a form of recreation?”

Sarek didn’t glance up from his news vid.  “It would depend upon the pursuit, I believe.  What prompted this question?”

“Senik sent me a survey,” Amanda replied, amused.  “It’s very detailed.  I think it’s his way of adjusting to living with Spock.  Poor thing, he must be very lonely on Earth. Maybe Spock needs to find him some Human friends his own age.”

“Unlikely.”

“‘Would Spock prefer a long or short engagement period prior to matrimony?’” Amanda read aloud.  “My goodness, this gets awfully personal. 'List four key qualities Spock would seek in a life partner.'"

Sarek paused his vid.  "I suspect the questionnaire has an ulterior motive."

Amanda huffed, amused.  "Do you think Senik's playing matchmaker?"

Sarek extended his hand towards the PADD, which Amanda handed over.  He glanced over the survey, and somewhere around item 104, gave it back.  "Yes, I believe he is."

"Spock won't like that," Amanda observed.  "Should we warn him?"

"I suspect what Spock does not know will not harm him, in this case."  She shot a look of disbelief at her husband. "I am merely observing that our son could use a little assistance in personal matters. Our own suggestions and guidance has only produced frustration, perhaps Senik's surveys will yield some valuable data."

"A little assistance? From Senik?" she replied archly.  "A survey isn't going to make the perfect person fall into his lap.  It's not how it works."

"No," Sarek observed solemnly.  "However, sometimes they fall into our gardens."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Gentle Readers,
> 
> Today marks the 3rd anniversary of the end of "Objective Data" and it's really been a wonderful ride in the series. Thank you to everyone who has been part of this writing journey, and thank you to all the new readers who tried this story. I have so much love for these two characters, and it's been a lot of fun write Spock's parents and the world and love that brought about Spock, and I hope you enjoyed it too. I'm looking forward to getting more ink on the final installation of Scientific Inquiry (no, I haven't forgotten!) so please subscribe to this series if you'd like to see the conclusion.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. walkandtalk


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